[SE] six of cups

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

Too busy concentrating to reply right away, Danta waits until he has successfully placed the stud into Asta's newly pierced ear before withdrawing, licking the small amount of blood from his thumb. "I abhor symmetry," he purrs in response to the butcher's question, smirking down at him as if having pretended not to notice the roughness of his voice. "If you'd like the other done, though, I'm sure I could find a different earring to use."

A silver loop might do quite nicely, in fact, Danta retrieving one from his little box of supplies and holding it up to the light. "What do you think?" Raising his eyebrows at the other man, he of course leaves it up to Asta. He has no doubt that the pain doesn't bother him one bit, but he has messed with the butcher's appearance quite a lot already this morning.

Dantalion

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

His earlobe does swell, reddened but not enough to detract from the ruby gemstone nestled amongst it. And while Asta can’t see it, he does feel the slight weight of the gem and the metal as Danta withdraws to survey him. “Ah, but it already feels off in terms of weight.” Comes the somewhat dramatic whine, saccharine in the slightly deeper accent that escapes him and the still darkened gaze that focuses on the Maverick as the loop is revealed.

Dark eyes track it before he nods his confirmation. “I think it is lovely.” He murmurs, his grin still too sharp and sly, but he tilts his head slightly to make it easier for the blonde to focus on the other earlobe. And now that he knows what to expect, he remains loose from tension, eyes shutting to take a deep breath of Danta’s scent again, intermixed with the tinge of metal — both from the jewelry and the lingering blood in the air.

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

"Ah, we can't be having that, can we?" Bouncing his eyebrows, Danta nods and goes about sterilising the needle once more, his hands - and the slender spike of metal - aglow with his fire magic. "I'm glad you think so," he says of his choice of jewellery. "Shame we don't have a fountain like Torchline's yet, mm? Otherwise you wouldn't have to deal with waiting for it to heal."

Ah, well. Given the butcher's penchant for blood and pain, he doesn't think he'll mind all too much, Danta falling quiet once again to lean in and successfully pierce Asta's other ear in a smooth gesture, threading the silver loop through his earlobe and withdrawing once he's happy with it so as not to irritate it too much. "All done," he purrs, setting the needle to the side and positively beaming at the other man. "You sat very well for it."

Dantalion

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

Snorting softly, it’s with an affectionate — if not still sly — crookedness to his grin that the butcher agrees. “Mm, or the rum fountain.” He despairs playfully, drawing silent again so Danta can work. He doesn’t mind the healing process, in all reality. It beat the sensation he’d felt after Safrin had healed him, when every nerve ending within him had been alight with stars and the cold yet warm abyss of space.

At least he doesn’t have a chance to dwell on it as his breath hitches again for the next piercing, eyes shuddering shut for a few long seconds before Danta’s surveying his work and the butcher’s dark gaze focuses back up at him, hands smoothing possessively along the Maverick’s upper arms. “Of course I did.” He pauses, before his rough voice continues. “What do you think, love?” His accent wraps around the question, tilting his head slightly to give the blonde a very Asta look, adorned in all the makeup and jewelry, black tipped hands moving enough to slip into the robe to brush against the Maverick’s shoulders, his thumb stroking over the smooth beat of the other Ancient’s pulse.

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

"Or the rum fountain. I think our aesthetic would suit a wine fountain more, though." Red wine spraying from a grotesque set of marble statues? Count Danta in. He's just about finished arranging Asta's hair so it doesn't tangle around the new additions in his ears when he feels the butcher's hands press oh-so-possessively over his body, the Maverick raising his eyebrows curiously but of course not complaining in the least.

"Oh, I adore it, obviously--" Cut off by the way Asta pins him with his stare, it's Danta's turn for his breath to hitch in his throat, the theocrat caught and drowning in mahogany eyes lined with smoke and fire. "Fuck, you look good," he mumbles, the colour high in his cheeks as he leans in to kiss the inevitable smile away from Asta's lips, relishing the feel of his wandering fingers.

Dantalion

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

“Ah, even better. A dark red. A noir or.. mm, a cabaret?” He muses, equally daydreaming about a wine fountain, the red spouting like blood from dark marble fountains, reflected by firelight, spilling over hands and staining them with their sweet liquid. It’s a thought that fully distracts him (and admittedly sparks a slight flush to his cheeks, spurred on by the iron in the air).

It’s with a stare that greets the blonde and sets him off balance enough that his grin curls more playful, more dark and full of mischief, as if imagining all the wonderfully wicked things that something about being adorned just how Danta liked would spark.

His lips part briefly, fingertips drawing designs against his pulse and neck, as Danta’s lips crash into his and he presses into it with a surprising amount of heat, fingertips threading past to the nape of the Maverick’s neck, golden strands tangled into as his other hand pushes down the beautiful robe, so that fire can lick happily along his Theocrat’s shoulders.

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

"Or a nice merlot," Danta considers, though honestly, he's far from a wine connossieur in comparison to the butcher. He likes what he likes, though, and whatever the type, he's sure a wine fountain would be a glorious addition to the Grounds in the future. (Maybe they can even make it spray blood and just tell people it's wine...)

Of course, thoughts of anything other than the man he's pressed against vanish from his mind as Asta returns his affections, Danta shifting enough to let the robe fall from his shoulders, allowing flames to coil and dance against his skin. His pulse kicks up in response to the attention, the Maverick nipping at the other man's lower lip when he draws away at last - not enough to draw blood, which is probably for the best.

"Would you like me to bring you a mirror so you can preen at yourself?" He grins.

Dantalion

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

A Merlot does sound wonderful, too, and it belatedly reminds him of the wine bottle on the nightstand with their discarded glasses. But it’s a thought that’s incredibly second hand in comparison to where his focus and attentions currently are. And currently, they’re being drowned out by the Maverick and the dull ache of his ears, of the weight of Danta in his lap and the possessive fiery hold he has on the other Ancient.

The fire laps at Danta’s neck and shoulders, curling around his fingertips through the golden locks, setting them aglow in orange and white, flaring as his lower lip is nipped at. And when the blonde pulls away, he’s flushed slightly, cheeks darkened and eyes equally as such, dazed and love drunk as his smile mirrors the other man’s. “You do not need to bring it to me. I am perfectly capable of getting up.” He hums, pressing in toward Danta to lovingly push him back enough that the butcher hovers over him and has released his legs from the entrapment of the blanket.

And with a departing kiss pressed to the Maverick, Asta slips off the bed, leaving the blankets behind and all scars on display, swanning to the long heavy mirror they had maneuvered nearby specifically for this purpose. He doesn’t know what to expect, but his tail sweeps behind him and curls in startled delight to see the changes the Maverick has made. Head tilting to inspect the additions to his hair and ears, he leans in to get a better look at the kohl that somehow brightens his already quite dark eyes.

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

"But I am meant to be pampering you--" Danta begins, a grin spreading across his face before he's promptly tipped back, his dark laughter silenced only by the kiss Asta presses to his lips. Left just as flushed and dazed as the other man departs, the Maverick lounges for a moment in the mess of blankets, his silk robe still hanging off his shoulders, head tilting to watch the play of light over the butcher's scars as he heads across the room.

Of course, Danta is too greedy to let the distance between them remain for too long, and he's shrugged his robe back into place so he might prowl after the other man, only to be caught by his surprised expression in the mirror's reflection. "What do you think?" he asks, sidling up behind him and slipping an arm around his waist so he might press against the warmth of his back. "The kohl and your hair are a particularly extravagant addition, I know, but I couldn't resist."

Dantalion

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

He still is pampering him, but at least this way the butcher can feel somewhat useful in terms of actually moving around rather than lounging in bed long enough that his legs fall asleep. So he takes a moment to keep the blood flowing and to taunt his lover a bit more before he’s swanning away, bare of any clothes yet prettied up despite it.

He silently takes in his appearance, until Danta’s arm slinks around his waist and he can see the bright blues of the Maverick over his shoulder as he tilts his head slightly to flash the grin toward him. “I think it is all perfect.” He hums, winding his tail around Danta’s leg as his arm rests on top of the Maverick’s own around his waist. “I also think that if you thought I took a long time getting ready before…” He purrs, tilting his head enough to brush his bearded cheek by Danta’s own. “Perhaps it may be longer now, darling.”

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 a kiss against Asta's shoulder and nosing against the side of his neck, Danta is content to stand in the dappled sunlight, the chill chased away by the heat of the fireplace at their backs. Wondering if they really do look as delightfully lovestruck as their reflections imply, the Maverick spends a lingering few moments enjoying the feel of the butcher in his arms, the sweet, honey smoke smell of him and the firm press of his hands.

"I'm glad you like it," he purrs in return. "I'll just have to make sure I'm available for you getting ready in the morning, won't I?" With another kiss, Danta doesn't step back, but he does peer towards the window and The Last Whisper outside. "Speaking of which... would you like to come for a stroll with me? I've been seeing a lot of shops lighting candles in their windows and burning sage, and I'm dying to know what it's all about."

Dantalion

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

He’d be content to stand here sharing each others warmth and longing looks for the rest of the day, if there wasn’t anything else the Maverick wanted to do. But seeing as he’s finally out of bed and put together, the idea of lingering in bed seems almost exhausting when the prospect of going out is on the table. “Indeed you will, love.” Tipping him a wink, the butcher beams a shark toothed grin to their reflections, giving his leg a light squeeze from where his tail is coiled.

His dark gaze trails after the look that Danta gives to the window, and humming thoughtfully, the butcher nods. “I would be delighted to.” He does step away from the Maverick with immense reluctance, slipping over toward the side to snag a few items of clothing as if to decide what to wear. “What are you intending to wear?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder toward Danta as he debates between a charcoal vest or a black vest adorned with faint silver flourishes to match the silver in his ear and his hair.

In the end, the butcher decides to stick with the black vest with silver, paired with equally dark slacks, and a silken dress shirt of a deep dark red that’s nearly black where the shadows hit it.

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

As delighted as they would both be to make the most of their day by heading outside, it's with equal reluctance that Danta lets Asta peel himself away, leaving him ruffled in his poorly fastened robe, his reflection just as disgruntled as he is. Hiding a wide yawn behind his hand, he glances around at the room as if seeing it - and the clothes he might wear - for the first time. "Uhh..."

While Asta pairs his outfit impeccably, Danta opts for old faithful when the seasons start to tip towards the cooler end of the spectrum. Wiggling into a pair of leather pants and shrugging into the ruddy leather coat he'd acquired when he'd first set foot on Torchline's shores, he doesn't bother with a shirt beneath it - since Deimos was kind enough to enchant it, he finds himself more than toasty with it on.

Lacing his boots tightly and straightening up, he breezes by Asta to open the door for him. "Shall we?" He wants the butcher to go first, naturally, so he can ogle him on the way out.

Dantalion

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

The vast majority of him expects Danta to pull out whatever to wear — and he realizes he should have made a little bet about it because that’s precisely what the blonde does. It’s a good look, though, and he eyes the leather pants as he slips into the shirt and buttons it up nice and high above the tendrils of scar tissue on his chest before tucking it into his pants and slips the vest on. The rest of his outfit goes accordingly — silver details, silver chains, wingtip shoes with lighter grey lines to break up the black.

And when they’re done, he flashes the Maverick an easy smirk and a nod, silver additions to his hair bouncing with the movement before he leans in to snatch a chaste kiss. He swans out the door first with a soft thank you, before he’s pausing so Danta can catch up, happy to be his shadow as they go on their little investigation.

— FIN

Astaroth

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