[SE] if I become your ghoul

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

They do both know it would be an absolute nightmare to try and wake the Maverick from his slumber – so they will agree to disagree that it’s an option on the table. At least they will have agreed enough to make it seem as though they’re on the same page when it comes to being questioned.

Not that Asta thinks anyone would question them.

But either way, the butcher gets his flare of dramatics out of the way and beams his shark toothed grin greedily as the blonde steps toward him, his nose infiltrated with smoky sage, underlined with the scent of Danta’s fresher own scent, playfully wrinkling his nose as the fire stutters around his fire obsidian horns as if the sage was actually doing anything to him. “ I cannot make any guarantees, but I shall try to let it purify me.” He drawls as Danta’s wink and laugh rub off on the butcher, his smile softening as the fire dies from around his horns and he watches easily as the Maverick splits the sage around the room with grace, like he’s done it a thousand times – but it gives ample time for the butcher to allow himself to be lovesick for a moment where nobody but himself can see.

Until, of course, the sage is deposited and the butcher follows the nod to their den, already ridding the bag so he doesn’t need to remove it as he collects the last two candles – another in a hue of red glass while the other’s in hues of gold, streaked with black. Fitting, he thinks, as he dips into their darkened den, setting the golden candle on his side of the nightstand before putting the red one on Danta’s side, before he sinks down onto the bed and conjures another ribbon of flame to dip into both candles to set them merrily alight, before the ribbon is seeking out the Maverick to affectionately glide through blonde strands and along the sharp jut of his cheek. “I would say if nothing else, our room shall be adequately protected.” And if they have anything else to add, well, it’s just a cherry on top is it not?

Astaroth

i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Trying is all we can ask." Danta chuckles. "Though I daresay we would need more than a bit of sage to do anything to purify either of us." As wicked as they come, neither Ancient can claim to be particularly saintly despite their lofty positions within the Hollowed Grounds. Perhaps they can attempt a cleansing on themselves when they go ghostbusting in their 'haunted' chimney, he supposes.

For now, though, as Asta takes the last of their candles and disappears beneath the mezzanine into their den, Danta busies himself pouring them a generous glass of wine each and wriggling out of his leather pants (because fuck those for relaxing), replacing them by a pair of deep red sweatpants that sit low on his hips.

Spotting the flicker of candlelight as Asta finishes his work, the Maverick ducks beneath the drapes and finds a smile on his face that he can't wipe away at the sight of the other man at the end of the bed, conjuring fire to wend through his hair. "Mm, I can already feel the spirits fucking off to bother someone else," he agrees with a chuckle, shifting to clamber onto the bed and directly into Asta's lap. (An interesting feat with a wine glass in each hand, but he manages it).

"Here's to protecting the Dusklight," he says, clinking his glass against the butcher's in a cheers.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

He’s absolutely right, of course, but Astaroth can’t keep giving in and telling him that as often as he has been lately. So, it’s with naught more than a gesture and the flickering lights of the candles that the butcher settles, winding streaks of fire up through hair and working with his free hands to start to unbutton the silken black and silver accented shirt.

It’s about the time that Danta makes his grand appearance, slinking over the bed in new pants (equally as lovely but far less appreciative in hugging the blonde’s hips). At least there’s the two glasses of wine that approach as Danta slips over to settle into his lap, brows lifted in quiet surprise at the dexterity shown.

He does snag a glass at least, while his other hand slips around Danta’s middle, his hand smoothing out at the small of his back. “Here’s to protecting the Dusklight.” Astaroth purrs in equal measure, taking a long slow sip of the wine and relishing in the fruity taste against his tongue with a soft and considerate sound.

“Ah, just as lovely as I had hoped.” The butcher’s delight reflects on his decorated face, the glass swirling a touch to see just how long it sticks to the sides of the glass when he settles again; looking completely at home with the Maverick in his lap. “What do you think?” He asks, not making it clear what the question is as he invades Danta’s space to press a chaste kiss to his full lips, withdrawing only slightly to nuzzle his nose against the sharp jut of Danta’s cheekbone.

Astaroth

i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"If you think that's impressive, you should see me dress myself holding a glass of wine," Danta says with a soft chuckle, grinning down at Asta and settling with the other man's arm winding around him, surrendering one of the glasses so they might each enjoy the chosen vintage. "Mm, thanks to you, I have gotten better at choosing them," he agrees after a generous sip of his own, the Maverick leaning to set down his glass next to the candle on his nightstand.

Straightening back up, no sooner has Asta asked his question when the butcher's lips are on his own, and any reply Danta might have is lost in his heat and closeness. Looping his arms gently around the other man's shoulders, he nuzzles him right back, obnoxious and affectionate in equal measure. "It's perfect," he informs him, the words almost whispered against the shell of his ear.

It doesn't matter what the butcher is referring to with his question - Danta's answer remains the same either way. "Would you like me to take your hair down for you? I can tell you from experience that sleeping with all those adornments will come back to haunt you in the morning. More than any chimney ghosts we might have." He can already hear Asta's complaints if he considers it long enough.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

“I think I may have seen you do that before, actually.” Astaroth hums as he filters his mind to the days Danta had woken before him and he had remained, curled up in the warm bed by himself half dozing half not as the Theocrat got ready for the day. At any rate, the does indulge in the glass of wine and the distraction it brings, the ego stroke that pours from Danta’s lips after.

It’s just another tidbit of gratitude that’s pressed into the kiss after he poses his question, utilizing it to set his own glass down before his arms wind around the blonde in his lap, content to let the kiss end if only to feel the hot breath of the other Ancient against the shell of his ear. His head dips a touch to trail those kisses along Danta’s pulse, before he withdraws with a soft and slow blink, an easy smile tugging on his lips.

“I would, yes. Thank you, love.” The butcher absolutely was not intending on sleeping with them in, the last thing he’d need was to have more reasons to stab himself or anyone else. But, in an effort to make it easier, he begins to lower his head toward the Maverick, pronged horns beginning to vanish before they have a chance to knock into Danta’s head as he pops up his glamour. “To make it easier, darling.” He explains as the braid slides from the lack of horns into his face, distracting himself to starburst his warm hands along the other Ancient’s back.

Astaroth

i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Glad to know you've been able to admire my handiwork, then," Danta purrs, already fussing gently over the butcher's dark hair as his head tips forward, obsidian horns melting away entirely. Smiling privately to himself at hearing that pet name fall from Asta's lips again - love - he shifts to settle more comfortably in his lap, fingers teasing against the end of the braid to release it.

"You're very kind," he murmurs, his touch gentle and diligent to remove the delicate silver adornments, setting each one aside before continuing. "Perhaps we can get something similar to this for your horns," he suggests with a smirk, freeing the braid at last and plunging his fingers indulgently into the butcher's hair as if to affectionately muss it up.

"You know, in case you didn't want to take the time to do this every day." He says you, knowing of course that the honour will belong entirely to him should that be the case.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

“I admire your handiwork quite often.” He admits, even as Danta begins to take the braid out, followed by the silver additions, his touch soft and gentle before it plunges into his dark hair and the scalp that typically was hidden by the horns that usually sprouted there. He shivers in delight, tilting his head slightly like a dog might to adjust the attention and affections elsewhere. “Perhaps we can. I am a fan of the idea of bands and chains.” He muses, certainly distracted as he relishes in the touch.

They do both know it wouldn’t be him doing it (the idea is laughable, considering the amount of tries it would take the butcher might frustrate him enough to never fully complete it. “It wholly depends on how much time you have in the morning, darling.” He drawls, one hand snaking around and up to Danta’s chest to poke and prod at playfully.

It’s the same time that he lifts his head slowly, letting those kohl lined eyes focus back on the Maverick, still relishing in the touch. “So if you would like to save your time…” He hums, flashing a wink.

Astaroth

i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Is that so? I'll have to start looking over my shoulder to make sure you aren't spying on me throughout the day." Not that Danta would have any objection to being ogled and watched by the butcher, but it's the principle of the thing. As Theocrat, he should probably be on the look out for those sorts of people, right? Right.

Bands and chains do sound lovely, Danta's eyes lighting up as he doubles down on his affections, gently sweeping Asta's hair out of his face and leaning in to press a kiss to the crown of his head. "You know me." He chuckles. "I might have plenty of time, or I might have five minutes. You'll just have to put up with the chaos of it." And perhaps on the days when Danta is tumbling out of bed and into the first pair of pants he sees (regardless of whether they belong to him), Asta can decorate his horns instead.

Poked and prodded, Danta sits up enough to swat at the other man's hand, grinning as he tries to grab hold of his fingers. "You," he informs him with surprising warmth in his tone, "are never a waste of my time, Asta."

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

Humming a note of amusement, the butcher exhales. “It is partially my job to watch you, darling.” It’s a prideful boast, like he’s being the picture perfect guard dog for his Theocrat and his lover. “I would say I am succeeding.” It’s not spying if it’s half the reason he was hired as security in the first place. Keeping tabs and all that.

Either way, his dark hair nearly tickles his forehead as Danta brushes it out of the way and replaces that featherlight touch with the warm press of his soft lips. Never once had Astaroth thought he’d relish in such closeness, but he’d also never thought he would be wanted as more than just a statue of protection, left to his own devices when he’s not needed. Only as useful as his purpose allows.

“We shall work it out when we get there, hm?” He suggests, dark eyes warm like molten chocolate as he meets the Maverick’s own, as his hands are stopped in their attempts to be annoying in his poking and prodding, distracted by the dazzle of the blonde’s fanged grin. He’s pretty sure no one has ever told him he wasn’t a waste of time, certainly not with that much warmth, and it’s with a soft smile that breaks from too sharp, threatening teeth, that the butcher concedes to tangle his fingers into Danta’s rather than continue being pestering and annoying.

It surprises him when the first thought that comes to his mind slips past his lips, a low rumble of “you are too good to me.” He hums, surging forward with a hornless head, all of his Ancientness still buried away to steal a slower, much more sweet and serene kiss, full of warmth and love.

Astaroth

i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"It's your job to watch the Dusklight," Danta corrects with a crooked smile, "and considering how much time I spend squirrelling you away up here for myself, I'm not sure how much you're succeeding in that role. Maybe I ought to change your job title." From security to bodyguard, perhaps. Or - a radical thought - they could just spend a little more time on the main floor. Which is easier said than done, in Danta's opinion, given his current position and how comfortable it is.

Content that he's managed to remove all of the tiny adornments from Asta's hair, the Maverick is just about settling back when he finds his lips suddenly occupied, if not happily so. Humming a soft note of approval into the kiss, he slips his arms back around the butcher to hold him, smoothing gentle hands down the length of his back. "No I'm not," he whispers, the objection as sweet as any declaration of love. "You're good enough. Trust me."

Kissing him again and leaning in as if to coax Asta down onto the bed properly, while Danta has learned (or is learning) to walk the fine line between seduction and affection, there's still nowhere else he's rather be right now.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

“Mm, I took the liberty in adjusting my job title the second you told me you were threatened at the Midwinter Ball.” It’s a surprisingly easy admission, one that falls from lips far too smoothly to be anything but the truth — even if at that time the butcher hadn’t fully realized what feelings he had beyond being overly protective.

But Danta had felt the same, when that ice mage had nearly frozen him back into stone.

All the silver adornments are pulled from his dark hair and the braid loosened back into the easy black waves left behind from it, the only new additions left to his appearance that remain are the kohl eyeliner surrounding his warm gaze and the pink light swelling to his ears from the ruby stud and the silver hoop. But they’re hidden for the moment as he claims the Maverick’s lips in a kiss, accepting the affection and warmth offered by the hands that smooth against his back and down his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

It’s only like this that Danta could ever make him do something so willingly, and a subconscious part of him hopes the Maverick knows that as he lays back amongst the furs and pillows, hornless and tailless. He doesn’t expect the words to hit him as much as they do, but the smile is still as soft, as tender, as if the dark black void of his heart has begun to melt into the color of diamond hued fractals of the other Ancient’s horns. “I do.” Comes the soft admission, hands lifting to take his black painted nails through the loose blonde, pulling it from the other Ancient’s handsome face. “I do not believe I have ever trusted anyone as much as I trust you.”

If anyone should have his leash, he thinks Danta’s the best choice.

Astaroth

i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"Oh, did you now?" With cool blue eyes heating up with sparks of amusement, if Danta really thinks about it, he'll realise that Asta has become much more of his personal security than the Dusklight's, even well before they'd found the courage to admit their feelings to one another. "It's coming up to a year since you took that liberty and only now are you discussing it with me?" Nothing in the Maverick's expression suggests he feels anything other than approval, but who are they if they can't keep up these appearances?

Not that it lasts much longer beyond that; draped comfortably over the butcher, Danta closes his eyes against the gentle fingers that tease his hair back out of his face, still able to see the molten warmth of the other man's gaze behind closed lids. "I won't take it for granted," he promises, of the trust that Asta has chosen to bestow upon him. However much of a fickle cad he might be to the rest of the world, if Danta has a best, it belongs to the man beneath him.

With a final kiss against the butcher's stubbled cheek, he carefully sits himself up to finish what Asta started, unbuttoning his shirt in full so he might shrug out of it whenever he cares to. (And more importantly, so Danta can run warm fingers along his scarred chest).

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

A crooked smile blooms over his face briefly to see Danta’s blues light up with the realization, amusement glittering in his own dark eyes as he makes the confirmation. “That is correct.” Asta touts, as if proud it hadn’t come off too overt that he might seem like he does protect the Dusklight too. Which… He does, but at the end of the day if it came down to the Dusklight or the Maverick? Asta’s choice had been made a long time ago. “It is obvious, isn’t it?” Comes the easy teasing, because absolutely they have to keep up appearances, even if it’s just the two of them in their room, in their den, while the butcher comes to terms with being lovesick as he gazes up at his Theocrat.

He’s positive that the only blanket he wants in his life is the living breathing one settled atop him, letting his fingers thread through golden hair in the flickering light of their candles and the fire in their fireplace, focusing on that rather than the very heavy implications they’ve both admitted. It made sense, of course, but it still feels heavy. Heavier for the fact these are admissions easily made when inebriated, but meant more when he was far more sober. Like he is right now.

“Good, you shouldn’t.” Comes the heavy and playful taunt, waggling a brow as a warm kiss is pressed to his cheek and he lets his hands smooth down Danta’s sides to his hips as his shirt is unbuttoned. And as it turns out, now is a perfect time to shed out of it as Asta props himself up on his elbows, leaving cooler air from where his hands had been against the Maverick, but it doesn’t last long before he’s out of the shirt, pulling it atop his chest to fold and playfully prevent what it is the blonde is seeking most right now.

Oh, and he knows it too, if the small smirk that tugs the corners of his lips up is any indication.

Astaroth

i wear it as a lesson, a curse, and a blessing

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Grumbling something non-commital in response to Asta's teasing, that in itself has become an obvious indicator of Danta's feelings. Still, as startling as it might be to realise, again, what the butcher means to him, to understand what he's managed to find for himself (and more frighteningly, what he now stands to lose), at times like this, sober and unable to shy away from the reality of it, Danta does his best not to let it shake him.

Too much time has already been lost by shying away from the things that make him happy, even if those things also make him vulnerable, and gods, up here away from the world? Where else can he afford to show it, if not here?

Sitting back just enough for Asta to be able to shrug out of his shirt, Danta is ready to all but swarm all over him when he goes and pauses to fold the garment. "Astaroth," he scolds, knowing very well what that smirk means, and it's with a playful growl and a lash of his tail that he tries to swat the shirt into a heap on the floor so he can get what he wants.

So much for soft and happy and vulnerable, then.

Dantalion