[SE] six of cups

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Mmhm." Danta's dry acceptance of Asta's request - to shhhh himself on the matter - is hummed against the other man's neck, and as they both relax and the butcher curls himself closer, he finally feels himself start to warm up after having lounged atop the sheets for so long. There might even be a nap in the near future, he things, were it not for Asta's sudden laughter, and he peeps up at him with playful outrage.

"I suppose I will," he quips, "though if you don't feel up to the task, I could always go and find them elsewhere." It's a jest, of course - there's nowhere Danta would rather be right now - and he leans up to stifle any protests Asta might have with his lips. His kiss is slow and gentle compared to the fire that might suggest he intends to claim at least one of those orgasms right now, and as he shifts to blanket the other man with his body, it's with the full intention of using him as a hot water bottle.

Dantalion

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

The hum of Danta’s mhmm vibrates against his neck and Astaroth relaxes gently as he curls into the other Ancient. But as his next comment slips from his lips, the butcher quips back to him in such a tone that he immediately feels some semblance of outrage, immediately letting his arms slip around him even more possessive, and before he can let any words leave his lips, Danta’s silencing them with his siren song of a kiss.

It’s slow and gentle and distracts him well enough to slip back onto his back, letting Danta curl up on top of him to soak the heat. And with the gentle press back into the blonde’s lips, he fights with the blankets to tug them up and over the Maverick to keep the heat from escaping. He parts from the kiss with a gentle nudge and lets his lips plant tender and soft kisses along the other man’s sharp jaw. “You are a nightmare.” He whines a breathy sound against his jaw, hands smoothing down Danta’s spine.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

Smiling into their kiss as if anticipating the possessive outrage that has Asta's hands tightening around him, Danta would be lying to say he doesn't get a quiet thrill out of winding the butcher up. He gives as good as he gets as far as he's concerned; the other man is charming and untouchable enough on an average day to make his mouth water, let alone when he's swanning about their shared room, ruffled and casual.

"Surely I am not as bad as that," he purrs, tilting his head to welcome the kisses against the clean line of his jaw, the Maverick stretching himself flush against the body beneath his own. "I have seen the aftermath of your nightmares, remember." Brushing his nose against Asta's and turning to try and catch another chaste kiss to his lips, he relaxes beneath the weight of the blankets and the butcher's touch.

Dantalion

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

If there’s one thing that Danta has always been good at, it’s winding him up. So it’s no surprise the blonde does it so effortlessly, but provides enough of a distraction to keep him from completely becoming a menace in his own right.

As such, he makes his complaint against Danta’s jaw, lips trailing along smooth skin before he feels the Maverick stretch and claim his lips again. Lips that barely hide the deep chuckle that bounces Danta against his chest from how they’re positioned.

He indulges in the chaste kiss before he settles back enough and lets his hands lift, gliding along Danta’s back toward his shoulders and neck, fingers feather light as they rake through blonde locks. “You are a different kind of nightmare.” He hums, peering up at Danta with mischief in the honey dark of his eyes. “You are the kind that I cannot fathom being away from, regardless of how you continually tamper with my sanity, love.” He flashes a playful wink, wrinkles blooming in the creases of his eyes, and lines deepening around the too sharp grin he flashes up at the blonde.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Oh, I see," Danta drawls, smiling against Asta's lips and withdrawing if only to better enjoy the fingers that come whispering up the length of his back and into the his fair hair. "Careful, Asta - that almost sounded like a compliment." Tipping the butcher a wink for his trouble, he nevertheless resolves himself to behave for the rest of the morning at the very least. As such, he carefully relaxes himself against the other man, tucking his head beneath his chin and closing his eyes.

"Sanity is over-rated anyway," he adds as an afterthought, smirking a kiss against the hollow of his throat. "Though maybe you can buy more with your triple riches." Because that makes sense, right? Right. Letting out a long, content sigh, Danta peers back up towards Asta after a few moments. "Do we have any plans for today?" he asks.

Dantalion

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

“Are you insinuating I would do such a thing?” Asta asks, mock offended as evidenced by the smile that still plays on his lips. It’s a smile that remains even as Danta nestles in and can’t see it any longer, face angled up toward the underside of the mezzanine with the flickering candlelight and the warmth that radiates from the blankets and bounces between the two of them from within their confines.

Comments of sanity are melded with the soft press of the Maverick’s lips against the hollow of his throat, and the butcher’s tail coils a touch tighter around the blonde’s leg. “I do not know if more sanity would be a detriment or an improvement.” He muses, clearly contemplating it for a few long moments before he finally deigns to answer the Theocrat’s question. “We have wine coming, do we not?” He hums, as if just remembering it himself. “Other than that, darling, I am at your whim.” His fingertips thread through golden strands again, idly, wondering if Danta had plans beyond fortune telling.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Me? Never." Danta's grin is a wicked thing that Asta will feel rather than see; relishing the way they're shielded from the full brunt of the morning light from within their den, it's only the reminder that he had indeed ordered wine that has him peeping up from where he's been pressed so tightly against the other man. "I for one am always against more sanity than necessary," he says matter-of-factly, smooching a kiss to Asta's cheek before promptly slipping out of bed, intent on checking on the progress of said wine.

Slipping into a silk robe emblazoned with rolling waves and setting suns, Danta ties it loosely and pads away to the door - just as someone taps at it from the other side. He retrieves their wine with a purr of greeting and a fond farewell to the bartender who brings it, already uncorking it to pour it into two glasses as he heads back towards the bed. "At my whim, you say?" He beams. "Dangerous words. Whatever shall I do with you?"

Dantalion

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

He doesn’t feel it necessary to verbalize the that’s what I thought to Danta’s comment, so instead he simply lets it lie and continues to give the Maverick gentle attention. He does adjust his head slightly to peer at him curiously with the mention of wine, snorting and nodding. “Of course you would be.” Sanity was overrated, wasn’t it these days?

He takes the kiss to his cheek and whines a touch when the blonde departs the bed, shifting so that he can slip back onto the bed so his scarred shoulders press against the headboard as Danta retrieves the wine. “That is a lovely robe.” He thinks he’s seen it before, but something about the way the dim morning light filters onto the suns and pops the hues of blues in the waves is particularly entrancing today of all days.

It’s enough that mischief glitters in his gaze at the answer, head cocking enough to ruffle his dark hair to fall into his face that he immediately starts to fix, finger combing his hair back and into place. “Mm, whatever shall you do with me?” He says as his fingertips still remain in his hair, casual and relaxed, even if still a little possessive over the prior riling up.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"I'm glad you approve. I snagged it from Torchline as a parting gift, since I imagine we'll not be taking another vacation for a while," Danta says, glancing down at the robe in question and leaving it on as he clambers onto the bed. His hands are full with the wine glasses, the bottle still resting in the crook of his arm, so it's with much less grace than usual that the Maverick shuffles to sit astride Asta, handing him one of the glasses as he does so.

"You know what I always want to do with you," he drawls, setting down the bottle and sipping at his wine - a rich red, but not too heavy given the time of day. "Alas, I suppose I'll just have to settle for showering you with attention instead." And if he does spend the morning in Asta's lap fussing over him, he'll still consider it time well spent.

Dantalion

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

“I still mourn leaving it.” Asta sighs dramatically, hand fluttering to his chest briefly before he reaches out the snag the glass from Danta to help him settle astride his lap. The butcher flashes an easier smile, tail waving across the tops of the blankets as he raises his glass in a mock little toast before taking a sip of it and relishing the deep, fruity taste, refreshing enough for the morning and not too full to be a nightcap.

His free hand rests against Danta’s thigh as he huffs a soft sound of a laugh, his head cocking as he regards the blonde. “How are you never constantly exhausted with that libido of yours?” He asks, lips quirking into a smirk before he straightens up and preens. “Ah, what kind of attention am I to receive?”

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"I would be, if only you would fuck me as often as my libido demanded," Danta purrs, a wicked look in his blue eyes as he sits back enough to take another sip of his own wine. For all of their banter, however, the Maverick would not have Asta any other way, and he's more than content to lust after him every moment of every day until the mood strikes. Besides, if the butcher really did try to keep up with his libido, chances are that they'd never get anything done but each other.

So instead, curling an arm around the other man's shoulders and nursing his wine in the other hand, Danta leans in to touch his forehead to the butcher's. "Only the best for you," he says, tail waving idly through the air behind him. Drawing back for one last sip of his drink, the Maverick leans to the side to set down his glass and the bottle before settling comfortably in Asta's lap. "Maybe I'll kiss every single one of your scars. Or I could paint your nails, or braid your hair?"

Dantalion

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

“Gods,” Asta breathes dramatically, breath scented like wine as he tries and fails to hide the soft laugh that leaves him. “Not only would it be exhausting but I could potentially pull a muscle.” The complaint is affectionate and buried beneath the hand that waves dramatically, but carefully enough to not spill the wine that he draws to his lips.

He can’t even imagine trying to keep up with Danta. Perhaps for his birthday he’ll try as a gift for the blonde.

Instead, the arm winds around his neck and he settles with their foreheads pressed, wine lowered between them while his freehand still rests easily against Danta’s thigh, brushing gentle patterns into the pale skin and toying with the hem of the robe. “So long as you kiss them and do not pulverize them anymore.” He teases, despite knowing it would help (and it has, all things considered). “What color would you choose?” He asks suddenly as if realizing Danta had said he could paint his nails, which sparks far more amusement, and perhaps a fair bit of fear, than it should.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"More than one muscle if I had my way." Grinning, Danta snaps his teeth playfully towards Asta, planting a kiss on his cheek in its wake. "I did not pulverise them," he adds, sounding affronted, though there's enough of a smile in his voice for the butcher to be able to feel it as those first kisses migrate towards the scars licking against the tops of his shoulders. "I can, though, if you ask nice."

But then there are potential manicures on the table, the Maverick drawing back to take Asta's free hand between his own ringed fingers, examining his nails and his scarred knuckles. "Black, obviously," he tells him after a beat, pressing a kiss to his knuckles for good measure. "It's classic, it's intimidating, and it would go with any attire you chose. I'm not a monster, Astaroth." He grins.

Dantalion

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

Snorting, because he knows it’s true, he lets that thought lie for the follow up — the affront after the complaint, and he certainly does feel the smile in the blonde’s kiss as it presses against his skin, the butchers horned head tilting this way and that to offer plenty of room for him to choose from. “Oh, so I must ask nicely? I thought you preferred it when I was stubbornly demanding?” He teases, setting his glass down.

It’s just in time for his hand to be collected by the ringed ones of the blonde, focusing down on the way Danta inspects his hand. Scarred knuckles against Danta’s own, any scarring that resides on the blonde’s own knuckles, hidden by the jewelry that sits there, opposite of the butcher’s own unadorned fingers. “Mm, black could work.” He seems to contemplate even as his fingers extend in an affectionate touch against the Maverick’s cheek when his knuckles are kissed. “Ack, what did I do to deserve hearing my full name, Danta, darling?” His head sags back against the headboard, knocking his antlered horns against the wood with a fully dramatic sigh.

Astaroth

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