[SE] if I become your ghoul

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

It is a terrifying thought, to lose the Maverick, and it’s one that Astaroth has spent a grand total of three seconds on before existential crisis began to swarm in. So, instead, he simply tries to indulge in the fact that they’re here, they’re together, feelings admitted and indulged, content to live in this third chance of a life the butcher shouldn’t have been afforded.

But he has, and he uses it at this present moment to be a little shit.

Amusement is found in the lines of his face, the way he goes to fold his shirt in lieu of giving the Maverick what he wants. And it stays even as he’s managed to flatten out one sleeve before Danta’s sending it spiraling and using his full name, to which… Alright, fair enough. Feeling scolded (playfully so), the butcher tries but can’t hide the rumbling laugh that escapes him as his hands fall to the bed, with no horns or tail to lash or pierce the pillows as he stubbornly shuffles back into them more comfortably, pinning Danta with a brighter shark toothed grin, kohl lined eyes full of bright mischief. “What, Dantalion?” He fires back, dark brow lifting in a face of what of it?

Astaroth

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

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

"Don't you threaten me with a good time," Danta purrs as the sound of his own full name hits his ears, heralding that unspoken agreement between them that promises heat and blood and boundless pleasure. Immediately surging forward to claim a kiss that easily walks the line across sweet and into passionate, the Maverick's hands are as greedy as his tongue, though his touch is anything but rough.

He covets every part of the butcher he can get beneath his fingers, every nick and scar and freckle, and though anyone looking in might say he's doing his best to pin Asta beneath his own body, the other man will of course find him warm and pliant and easily manoeuvred should he prefer things to be different. The only thing Danta won't compromise on is their enjoyment, and as he parts from Asta's lips with a mischievous flick of his tongue, neither of them ought to be surprised that there's already the taste of iron in it, though he can't say whose blood it is.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

Oh but threatening with a good time are the best threats to give. You would know, Danta.

The grin sparks into something wider, briefly, because the blonde is surging into a heated and lovely kiss, and the butcher’s arms immediately wind around the Maverick, knowing full well that he’s at whatever whim Asta has in that moment. For now, though, he’s content to let Danta start it.

And gods, he’s so glad he did, “pinned” beneath Danta with a kiss that tastes of copper when he pulls away, Astaroth spends very little time trying to determine who’s the cause. Heat and lust invade his already dark gaze, the spark of his bloodlust sharper than it had been earlier with the piercing of his ears but no less intense.

Taking the brief moment they’ve parted to absolutely take control, the butcher’s arms tighten imperceptibly as he rolls them, pushing Danta back down into the bed so that the butcher can hover above him, grin sharp and seductive as he lets his glamour loose, horns extending from his skull and casting a flickering shadow across Danta’s chest, his voice becomes a low and husky purr. “Now what to do with you, hm?” For wrinkling the shirt, maybe, or any other reason that seems suitable (as if they need one).

Astaroth

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

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

Danta has just enough time to enjoy the warm arms that slip around him, the heat sending a shiver up the length of his spine, before Asta makes his move. His breath leaves him in a huff of surprise, not that he's remotely against being pinned beneath the other man (it's one of his favourite places to be, if he's honest), and he's left smirking up at the butcher as he drops his glamour.

"Gods, that's hot," he whispers, the horns curling from Asta's skull casting bands of shadow across his face, Danta running his hands greedily down his lover's chest, only to let one of them slip around his hips to try and playfully pull his tail. "You can do whatever you like with me, as long as you keep looking at me like that," he informs him, raising a brow in challenge as if to invite Asta to make good on his threats since he's the one suddenly in control.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

Oh, the things Asta would be able to get away with when he gets his illusion magic back, and the shadow play and adjustment to his horns will be all that much more menacing and perfect. Ah, but they settle for this, and this is obviously good enough based off of the other Ancient’s whisper, sharpening the butcher’s grin all that much more.

Danta does manage to stroke his hand down the scarred rough patch of his chest and around his hip to his tail, which winds around to curl around the Maverick’s arm, the flat portion of the spaded tip pressing up into the crevice of the blonde’s elbow. “Like what? Like you need to understand that there are consequences for your actions?” He purrs, keeping that dark mischief in his voice and his eyes.

He shifts a little, withdrawing onto his knees to shed Danta of the rest of his clothes before his hand returns to him, trailing up to cradle the side of the blonde’s neck, thumb pressing up against the underside of his sharp jaw, his other hand winding around his lover’s thigh, fingertips pressing in red marks. He peers down at him as if debating just what kind of “punishment” would suit best, having bitten his lip in the process and content to let the crimson drip down his jaw and onto the Maverick’s chest, prolonging the moment out so he can figure out just how he wants to do this, giving Danta a moment to relish in it before he intends to actually make his move.

Astaroth

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

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

"I understand plenty that there are consequences for my actions," Danta says, brattish and grinning even as his arm is captured by the length of Asta's thrashing tail. "I'm more curious as to what consequences you're considering." The butcher can be soft and sweet just as much as he can be teasing and wild and brutal, and as much as he might be a fan of routines, Danta relishes in the chaos of not knowing which version of the other man he's going to get.

Lifting his hips as if to aid in the removal of his clothes, Danta relishes the tickle of warm air against his bare skin and the rough, hot feel of Asta's hand against his cheek. His head tilts up all too willingly under the butcher's ministrations, forcing him to gaze through half-lidded eyes to watch the blood bead on his lower lip, to scent the iron from it. Inhaling a shivery breath and fighting not to squirm, he nevertheless hooks one leg around Asta's hips as if to try and encourage him closer.

"I could watch you all day," he purrs.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

“That entirely depends, does it not?” Comes the heavy purr again, tinged in iron and heady as he debates just what to do with the other man, even as Danta moves so willingly however the butcher dictates. There are times where Asta is more raw emotionally, more into the anxieties and stressors that are unfounded but alleviated in the ability to be sweet and serene, to right wrongs previously placed.

There are also times where his blood lust edges on the territory of danger, and that rawness becomes a feral beast, lurking beneath his skin, craving to take and devour as opposed to love and worship.

It’s the former that Danta will find, even if the reasoning for said reaction is dull. They’re here now, and as the blonde hooks his leg around his waist to encourage him closer, that’s when the butcher makes his decision. “Is that so?” Comes yet another question, one that lightens the mischief in his darkened, lustful gaze. The hand at Danta’s cheek falls down along his chest, smearing the small droplets of blood that had spilt.

He unwinds his tail from Danta’s arm all while unhooking the other Ancient’s leg, utilizing the moment of distraction to flip the blonde to draw him closer. Hands smooth along his hips and up his spine, not unlike what had happened in the hot springs. “Much better, don’t you think?” It’s absolutely a tease, said in the same breath as how he draws Danta back, still taunting and teasing with how he’s still half clothed in comparison to his lover.

Astaroth

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

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

Danta might have pointed out that, in comparison to the sort of bullshit and mischief he's capable of inflicting, his actions thus far have been positively mediocre. But he's more keen to keep that predatory look in the butcher's eye, to tease Asta to the point of feral need and bad decisions, so of course he does little more than offer the other man a coy shrug. "That is so," he confirms, gaze flicking down to the lines of blood streaking along his chest, filling the air further with the scent of iron.

Wanting to suck the crimson from Asta's fingers (and from his lips, for that matter), that's distraction enough even without the butcher's sudden movements, and Danta barely realises what's happened until he's drawn back against his lover's chest. Asta is simultaneously much closer and much farther away, the Maverick able to feel him, to hear the rumble of his voice, but with all else left to his imagination.

"I feel as though you may have misheard me," he purrs, raising an eyebrow but nonetheless relishing every touch the butcher wants to leave on his skin.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

Ah, but he hasn’t. And it’s that fact that Astaroth pulls Danta up against his chest, his smirk pressed into the back of the Maverick’s shoulder, leaving the warm iron of blood in messy, chaotic swipes. “I did not.” He responds haughtily, tail thrashing slightly before it winds around the blonde’s waist, keeping him pressed against him as he now readjusts them once Danta’s perfectly situated how he wants. All the while, one hand smooths up over the blonde’s chest, blotting out his sight in a makeshift blindfold, turning them to where the blankets feel somewhat cool beneath their knees.

“Would I ever lie to you, darling?” He purrs in his heavy accented tone, lips ghosting against Danta’s ear and brushing by the jewelry situated there. His hand falls away, smoothing down his lover’s chest in a slow descent, tail remaining wound around the other Ancient’s middle as the full view is revealed.

The candles lit beside their nightstands illuminate them in all kinds of flickering flames, all angles of shadows that cast upon them. It’s that reflection that Danta will see in the full length mirror angled toward them, a notable difference between the smooth flicker of Danta’s shadows and Asta’s own warbling one, vibrating like a cat poised to strike.

Astaroth

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

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

Danta can practically feel the prick of the butcher's teeth as he speaks with his lips pressed to his shoulder, the Maverick caught between continuing to toe the line and purposely sabotaging Asta's delicate balancing act. A slip here, a nudge there and oh no, maybe there will be more blood than the butcher anticipated. Luckily, perhaps, for them both, he's soon distracted by the arm slipping around his middle and the hand blotting out his sight, filling his senses with the scent of iron and the feel of cool sheets.

"I don't know - would you?" he wonders with a crooked smile, head tilted to encourage every accented word Asta wants to drip into his ear. As he's finally able to blink back the sight of the room, at first Danta isn't sure what exactly is supposed to have changed. And then he catches sight of them through the drapes of their den, Asta coiled around him like liquid shadow, the firelight painting the Maverick in shades of gold and crimson, and the butcher will feel his pulse begin to race.

"Fuck," he whispers, equal parts awe and surprise.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

Oh Asta absolutely isn’t prepared for any twist in the plans, and he’s grateful when Danta doesn’t mess with the flow of it despite very much being able to. “Not without a reason.” He drawls, voice softening as if thoughtful for a moment. “However, I recall telling you that I was a man of my word?” Time and time again, not even in this second chance at a life. It had been a saying since they’d first met, too.

It’s the way Danta takes in the view that dark eyes catch his reaction in their reflection, lips curling into a smirk where they press kisses to his shoulder again. “Now, where were we..” He hums, as if he had forgotten. He hadn’t. But he lets his shadows continue to warble, shift and adjust against Danta’s skin, horned head and mussed hair falling onto the Maverick’s shoulder when he dives in to press his lips to his neck. He also takes the time to shimmy out of the rest of his clothes. And the sight Danta will be met with is the one of the butcher’s head buried in the crook of his neck, teeth piercing lightly into the smooth flesh there; a deep hum escaping him as the shiver escapes him and makes his shadows warble even further, exactly at the same time that his free hand lowers to wrap around Danta’s cock, mixing the pain with the pleasure.

Astaroth

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

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

"You did say that," Danta concedes; Asta has always been a man of his word, even when (especially when) those promises are vicious and wicked. In absolutely no position to give reminders, it's about all the Maverick can do to keep his eyes on their reflections as Asta's mouth presses back against his throat, the butcher like a dark haired devil over his shoulder, all writhing shadows and sharp teeth.

Gasping in a soft breath that becomes a stuttered moan to feel those same teeth pierce his skin, Danta seems to freeze and melt against the other man all at the same time, one of his hands lifting enough to tangle loosely in dark hair, the other resting on Asta's forearm as his fingers sneak lower. "More," he whispers, unsure himself whether it's a plea or a demand, but as the word spills from his lips he arches back into the butcher's space, teasing himself flush against the body behind his own.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

It’s everything within him to keep from over indulging, and luckily the positioning helps (it’s part of the reason he’s chosen this way. The other part being that he absolutely wants Danta to see the way he can rug and pull at all of his strings). At any rate, he’s tempered, surprisingly well, letting the Maverick’s blood tint his lips as he presses kisses to the apology of the crescents of pinpricks his teeth have made. It’s a claiming, as he always does, but somehow it’s different. Perhaps it’s the hand in his hair, perhaps it’s the way that as he withdraws, nosing his way up against Danta’s jeweled ear, where his hot breath hitches ever so slightly when the blonde presses himself flush against him.

Dark eyes, made black by the shade of their den, catch a glimpse of the two of them, of the way one of the butcher’s hands continues to indulge his lover by stroking his length a bit faster, while his other hand moves between them, fingertips bullying their way against Danta’s hip, prying them apart for a mere moment so that the butcher has a chance of lining them up. Cool air floods into the space, replaced so quickly it’s a temperature of whiplash. “More, you said?” A husky whisper caresses against the other Ancient’s ear in the momentary pause, before he finally gives the Maverick a chance to settle, sinking into him with a muffled growl. His hand returns to Danta’s chest, lacing his fingers with the blonde’s freehand, sparking fire in looping arcs between any open space left between their hands. “Is this better, 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 far from the first time that Danta has watched himself be fucked in his own reflection, but it's the first time he's seeing Asta this way, and the Maverick is at risk of losing himself completely in the molten darkness of the other man's gaze. Flushed and panting with the increased attention from the butcher's skilled fingers, it's with slightly glazed eyes that he glances over his shoulder to feel even a fraction of unwanted space between them.

"I want you," he whispers, as if that might provide further encouragement - not that it's needed, as it happens, Danta forcing himself to relax, to spread his knees a little wider as Asta takes him, dragging a stifled moan from his throat. "Oh, fuck..." Clutching at the hand that laces against his own and relishing the fire spiralling between their fingers, the butcher might be the one in control, but it doesn't stop the Maverick from grinding back against him.

"Much better," he whispers, breathless and impatient for more still.

Dantalion