[SE] if I become your ghoul

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

“I know.” Asta hums, a husky purr to the shell of Danta’s ear, nosing his way into short, cropped blonde on the side of the Maverick’s head. Feeling the clutch of his fingers, the fire spreads, licking up against his chest and up their arms, still just as intertwined.

Despite having that control, when Danta grinds against him it drags a low moan of a sound from his throat, the stuttering of his hand at the other Ancient’s cock. He recovers quickly, at least, in how his hips rock into Danta’s, hand abandoning the blonde’s length to press his fingertips into his hip to help the rise and fall. It isn’t a position he’s used to, so he stutters it at first before finding his rhythm, all while purring quiet breathy sounds into Danta’s ear from bloodstained lips.

“Gods, you are perfect.” He lets his deep accented voice pitch, as if to prove to him just how each and every time he found himself in this position that Danta handled the butcher better than even he could imagine.

Astaroth

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

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

Moaning at the loss of attention to his aching cock, of course Danta can't complain for too long with the way Asta grasps his hips and takes him, the Maverick's head tipping back a fraction against the other man's. "Only because you are," he promises, his voice little more than a rough whisper that pitches into a groan as the butcher thrusts forward just so, his fingers squeezing around Asta's.

Twisting his free hand more tightly into silken, dark hair, Danta isn't sure whether he wants to pull the butcher back or to press him further against the pale column of his throat. Given his chaotic nature, though, perhaps it isn't so surprising that he chooses the latter, head tilting as if to invite Asta's teeth back against his neck. "Fuck me harder," he whispers; a siren song falling from the lips of his reflection inviting a more savage version of this current tableau.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

For as much as Asta does try to appear perfect in appearance, he is everything but that in most other situations. Regardless, he isn’t going to argue the point, especially not with how his lover writhes against him. The tightening of the hand in his own hair is a small surprise, one that has his breath hitching and thrust stuttering.

He ordinarily wouldn’t let Danta get away with this either, the jockeying for control (how he takes it, anyway), but the control within him gives way with a burst of flame from his hand intertwined with the Maverick’s to curl up and along his jaw as he’s pulled down to the open offering of his neck. His shadows warble with the delayed, lusty realization, and gods if he doesn’t want to completely change course just to worship his Theocrat. “As you wish.”

His breath stutters, releasing Danta’s hand to drop to the blonde’s other hip. Able to utilize the hold he has, even if he knows there will be bruises left there in the morning, he cares far little about that as he succumbs, mixing pain with pleasure again, moaning into the blonde’s skin as his teeth pierce again and he manhandles him in precisely the way to increase the pace and intensity of his thrusts, already driving himself into more feral territory with the combination.

Astaroth

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

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

It doesn't matter to Danta, how imperfect Asta perceives himself to be (how flawed they both are, in reality, when it comes to the world and how they operate within it). Right here and right now, there's nothing he'd change, nothing more he might want - other than what he's specifically asked for, of course, and the butcher complies (you guessed it) perfectly.

"Gods," he whispers in response to the bruising grip against his skin, the snap of Asta's hips into him, the prick of sharp teeth in his neck. Letting his now-free hand stray down to grip the length of his cock in quick, hard strokes, if ever there was a risk that he'd get his throat torn out, it's here and now, but fuck if that doesn't make it better.

"Look at you." The words are almost spoken in awe, the Maverick gazing through hooded eyes at their reflections even as he feels those first sparks of ecstasy begin to drag their way up the backs of his thighs, heralding the inevitable.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

With his teeth dug in and his hands possessively making their claim, Astaroth cannot possibly imagine a better moment. The gods that spills from Danta’s perfect lips is lost on him as crimson floods his senses, metallic copper drawn enough to spill in streaks of red down the Maverick’s collarbone from his neck.

There is a very real threat there, as the butcher cares little for Danta’s wandering hands, for the pleasure that rises through him. Its pleasure that Asta chases, too, as his hips take on a brutal pace, and it’s perhaps the one thing that keeps him from fully losing it. (That and while he’s on the edge of his safe section of his bloodlust, he hasn’t spilled over completely into the monster in his skin).

Withdrawing from Danta’s neck with a too hot tongue lapping up the blood and wounds left behind, Danta’s voice brings him back enough that he can catch a glimpse — eyes nearly black, blood staining his face, hair a finger tousled mess amongst the sharp tines of his horns. Ah, but it isn’t him he’s focusing on. He serves himself a passing glance, a momentary preen of his relatively thin frame that allows for each muscle to be visible as he zeroes in on the Maverick and the flush spanning his cheeks and splotching his body. “Mm, what a vision we make, hm?” He decides, voice far rougher than it had been all night. He pays it little mind as his hips stutter along with his breath, before he’s letting go of Danta’s hips, watching with a predatory casualness as he pulls him down atop him, burying himself deep into the Maverick. His hands don’t stop moving though, not as they cross over one another to wind his hands against Danta’s neck, like his bronze, scarred hands are a collar in their own right.

It works to staunch the bleeding for the moment, but it also works for the view he seeks. “Mine.” He growls, and if he’d had the ability to partially shift, he’d absolutely be showing all of those possessive shifts within him as his tether snaps, the growl breaking into a groan.

Astaroth

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

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

"I could watch it all day," Danta whispers, his voice breathless and tight with pleasure, at odds with the rough timbre he can feel rumbling against his back and throat as the butcher speaks. Already he's past the point of no return, every hitch of breath and stutter of the other man's hips ferrying him closer to climax, such that as Asta's hands leave him, however briefly, Danta merely uses the opportunity to melt further back against him, forcing his body to relax even as his orgasm shudders forth.

They cum almost at the same time, though the Maverick's cry of bliss is cut off by the hands that encircle his throat and collarbones, by the possessive growl he can just about hear through the static in his ears. Clutching at one of Asta's wrists and sinking down onto him as much as he can handle, Danta is left panting heavily, blood trickling through Asta's fingers and down his chest, though if he cares at all, he's forgotten to mention it.

"Yours," he confirms in a hoarse whisper, content to be had and held and possessed for as long as it takes for the butcher to come back to himself.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

It’s perfectly timed, swarmed with the twitch of his fingers on the sides of Danta’s neck, aiming to try and staunch bleeding in one side of his neck while the other is cradled by mere possessiveness. Eyes shudder closed for a brief moment before he manages to shove aside the beast crawling beneath his skin, his breath heaving and his heartbeat thrumming a staggered heartbeat against his neck.

Dark eyes open again, warmer as the waves of pleasure start to recede and he finds himself nosing in again as he pants, taking in the drips of blood against the pale and flushed torso of Danta’s. His hands loosen and lower, despite how his limbs and body feel like static and nothing all at once. It’s why he accidentally knocks the dark smooth fire obsidian of his horns against the spiked curve of diamond nestled in the Maverick’s tousled blonde.

“Fuck.” He breathes, more himself as he regains himself, shifting enough to spread a handprint of blood against Danta’s jaw as he guides him in to steal a much needed, grounding kiss, tail curling affectionately against the blonde.

He withdraws reluctantly, only to flash a somewhat apologetic smile from bloodstained lips. “Are you alright, love?”

Astaroth

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

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

Fuck is absolutely right, and only in those few stolen moments to catch their breath does Danta come back to himself enough to surreptitiously tighten his fingers in Asta's hair. Not enough to be considered hard, but should he need to drag the other man back (you know, in the event that his bloodlust seizes him properly), he's more than capable of doing so.

Thankfully it seems there's nothing to worry about, Danta's head turning willingly, guided by bloody fingertips and against reddened lips to a kiss he sorely needs as well. Humming a soft note of pleasure and drawing back with equal reluctance - and a slight wince, given the tugging on the wounds in his neck - he offers Asta a smile that's equal parts satisfied and perhaps a little lightheaded.

"Never been better," he assures him, pressing another crimson kiss to the butcher's cheek and relaxing back further into his arms. "Are you?" It might seem a strange question all things considered, but Danta is no stranger to overwhelm, and to say that the past few minutes have been intense is an understatement. "I don't suppose you brought a first aid kit up with all your things?"

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

He isn’t sure if he should believe Danta entirely to hear he has never been better. But he’s also in no position to argue as he feels the kiss to his cheek, and it takes everything in him not to just slump his head onto the Maverick’s shoulder that pulses with heat and likely pain.

“Yes.” He says softly, slowly, before he’s carefully running his tongue along his lips, trying to clean up a bit before finding it within him to loosen the grip he seems to have on his lover. “Though, I should hunt soon.” He murmurs, so that Danta can keep him somewhat accountable for it, if he wasn’t sure how close he was to it beforehand.

In terms of first aid kits, though, a hoarse and low rumble of a laugh vibrates through his chest, reverberating through Danta in turn. “As a matter of fact, I did bring a few first aid kits.” Because they both know Asta tends to end up hurt one way or another. He’d started preparing himself. So it’s with careful and dexterous, loving maneuvering that the butcher separates them, shuddering with a moment of overstimulation before he’s able to slip off the bed, padding out of their den. Tension seems nonexistent in the butcher’s shoulders, evident in the way his tail also drags across the wooden floor as he retrieves the first aid kit and a bucket of water and a few rags — returning with the rags and kit in one hand, cradling the bowl of water with fiery fingers to warm it up so it isn’t so cold. “Let me clean you up.” Let me pamper you.

Astaroth

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

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

"Mm, I had a feeling you might need to," Danta drawls, a smirk curling across his lips that almost begs Asta to ask how he knows. (As if it's not glaringly obvious from the state of the two of them). "We'll head out tomorrow morning," he decides. "Might even start to be some luxere about at this time of year." In the meantime, though, he's more than happy to stay right the fuck where he is. Which is good, because he might not entirely have a choice about it, if he's being truthful.

"You're very smart," he purrs to hear that Asta is, indeed, prepared for these sorts of situations, and it's with a soft hitch of breath that he shifts enough for the other man to peel himself away, leaving him craving after his warmth. Sitting himself among the sheets, bloodied and pale and still endlessly dazed with pleasure (and let's be honest, a tiny bit of bloodloss), Danta watches Asta potter about the room through content blue eyes.

By the time he returns with everything he needs, in fact, Danta is trying to stifle a yawn behind his hand, nose wrinkling at the way the movement tugs at the drying blood on his neck. "Okay," he decides, for once without any argument, the Maverick shifting to the end of the bed so Asta can do what he needs to do.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

Oh, they both know. And with the decision made, Asta nods before he makes his departure, too tired to let the usual drawls slip from his lips, like it’s a date and I can’t wait, darling. Because he’s gone shortly after his confirmation of their plans in order to retrieve everything he needs to clean his lover up, still riding the high of post-orgasm and the ego boost of being told he’s smart. (He is a simple man at the end of the day).

He half expects a fight upon his return, but he gets a full view of just how intense it had been, blood and marks littered all over the Maverick’s body, he understands why Danta accepts it. Internally, he winces. Externally, he flashes a prideful, boastful shark toothed grin stained red against the pale teeth in the low light. Shuffling closer, the butcher sets the kit down, able to take one of the rags from the stack brought with to dip into the warm water, starting initially with such tender care and touch to the blonde’s jaw, to the handprint he’d left. Slowly, he makes his way to the wounds, crescents left behind that begin to clot. “I got carried away. It was not my intention to do this much..” He hums as an apology, dark eyes flicking up to catch the depths of Danta’s sleepy blues, the sorry reflected in the depths of the void of his eyes as he continues to clean him up until he can place the bandages against his neck with an ointment aimed to heal, disinfect the wounds, and stop the bleeding.

Astaroth

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

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

Only as Asta settles before him and starts to swipe at the blood on his face does Danta let himself start to feel the bone deep exhaustion that drags at him. Whether its from a very thorough fucking (correct), the blood and bites and bruises (also correct) or the post-sex bliss (ding ding ding), he doesn't offer any of his usual mischief to feel the butcher's hands back on him. With a sunny smile, Danta sits quiet and compliant to let the other man clean him up, only blinking Asta into focus as he speaks.

"I forgive you," he purrs. "It was really hot, so I am just as guilty of not trying to stop you." He'd shrug if it wouldn't ruin the work Asta is doing, Danta tilting his head as best he can to let him place the dressing against his neck. Stark white compared to the scarlet that had been drying against his skin, Danta purposely doesn't look at his reflection now, as if to savour the sight of them from before and to cement it into his memory.

"Maybe I should be the one who takes a sedative tonight. Sleep is healing, or so they say," he suggests with a chuckle. It might at least stop him squirming around and pulling at things.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

Forgiveness comes easily from Danta’s lips, and while he would otherwise take them wholly to heart, there is the very distinct thought that the Maverick is simply lightheaded and still lingering in that bliss that’s already dissipating from the butcher in waves of cold as he forces himself to focus. “I think you may have started it, if memory serves. However, I am glad you found it as attractive as I did.” He hums, horned head tilting as he lets the apology melt into a soft smile of amusement.

After all, Danta had snagged him by his hair and pressed him into his neck. So really, is the butcher entirely to blame?

(He’ll blame himself regardless of how intense it had gotten, shh.)

With the bandages in place, he can focus on cleaning up the rest of him, dragging the hot wet cloth along Danta’s chest to clean the drops of blood, focusing wholly on his lover before even considering himself. “I can make you some tea to take it with, lest you would prefer the wine?” He suggests, letting a lick of fire escape his fingers to caress the Maverick’s jaw before he withdraws to grab a new rag to clean his own face and neck.

Astaroth

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

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

"That does sound like something I would do, doesn't it?" Danta says with a sly smile, reaching out a lazy hand to brush his thumb across Asta's bloody lips, as if to give himself a physical reminder of how it had felt to have those sharp teeth buried in his neck. "All the more reason for us to hurry up and finish that rage room, hm?" Not that he imagines this ought to be a regular occurrence, even when the threat of death has been eliminated. Even so, there's something absolutely irresistible (and probably quite problematic, given Danta's past) about being so wholly had by the butcher.

Humming a soft and affectionate sound to feel the warm cloth wipe the blood from his chest, of course the Maverick is keen to return the favour when he gets the chance. Snagging the rag from between Asta's fingers and turning his head into the ribbon of fire kissing along his jawline, Danta reaches out to clean away the crimson from the other man's neck and cheeks, considering his offer at the same time as he quietly admires the play of light and shadow on the butcher's face.

"I think tea sounds pretty good, actually," he decides, despite the wine remaining abandoned on their bedside tables.

Dantalion