[SE] if I become your ghoul

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

“Oh it most certainly does, love.” Asta purrs, lips forming a soft kiss to press against the fingers that trace the blood that has both stained and dried there, before they quirk into a smirk as he hums his agreement with an air of a soft chuckle to hear the rage room one more time. “All the more reason, yes.” At least then the butcher wouldn’t have to worry about going too far. Because if it did, well, they had their oopsie button upon exiting (though a part of him wonders just how horrible he’d feel after, if it did come down to that.)

Anyway, Astaroth meticulously cleans the Maverick, tenderly and reverently, as if each portion of the other Ancient was something to be worshiped and revered (he is), and he relinquishes control of the rag to let the fire lick at Danta’s jaw and cheek as he leans slightly into the warm rag that wipes away the remnants on the butcher’s own face and neck, humming soft notes of affection in return. He’d purr like a feline if he could, but Asta has always been more suited to letting his fyrhund show when it came to his affection.

Dark eyes flickering with streaks of warm honey when the fire’s light flashes upon the panes of his face scan the Maverick’s face, nodding as he starts to stand and collect the rag and the bloody bowl. He takes a moment to press a soft and tender kiss to Danta’s full and perfect lips before he’s rising and retrieving the very same tea kettle that he had been gifted (it’s one of his most cherished items). “I believe you will be trying Isla’s sedative before I have had a chance to. Do tell me how it is.” In terms of taste and feeling, though he imagines given Danta’s state he won’t last very long either way. The tea is prepped and set in the fire that he can manipulate, returning with the sedative and sweeteners to make the tea exactly how Danta liked it, and sinks down onto the bed to pull the blonde in against his raised, scarred chest, peppering him with kisses and affection while he waits for the kettle to start whistling.

Astaroth

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

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

With both of them more or less clean (or as clean as they care to be for the evening), Danta finally surrenders the cloth for Asta to remove it and the bowl and go to make their tea instead. He hums a soft note of approval against the other man's lips, thoroughly reluctant to let him go, though the siren song of something warm to drink and something to set him dozing is too powerful to ignore.

"I'll take notes," he suggests helpfully, the crooked smile on his face unapologetic; whatever notes Asta gets while Danta is asleep are not going to be helpful, he can guarantee that. "Does this mean it will taste better, I wonder?" That had been the whole point of switching to the Remedy's concoctions, right? Even if not, he supposes it will be mostly masked by the tea, the Maverick trying to peep into the cups when Asta is drawing him closer.

Obliging him all too willingly, Danta all but melts against the other man's chest, throwing a leg over his waist and letting out a content and boneless sigh against the crook of his neck. "Gods, you're so comfortable."

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

He knows the reluctance is there as he pulls away from the kiss, but it isn’t as if the butcher intends to be gone long. He finds that same reluctance in himself – in rather than cleaning up the rest of the mess of their den in the interim while the kettle starts to warm up, he finds himself sinking back in beside him, incapable of being apart for too long. “It should. How lucky you are to not have to endure the horrible taste of the previous ones.” Astaroth laments, drawing the Maverick in against him and remaining a pillar for however Danta wished to drape across him, fully expecting there to be absolutely zero notes from how the sedative goes – but knowing that if Danta were taking it that he’d also have to take his own precautions (if the slip of his bloodlust has anything to say about it).

His arm slides up against his lower back, keeping him close and anchoring his lover to him with the smooth winding of his tail around Danta’s leg. His free hand fiddles with the tea kettle and the cups as it begins to whistle – accompanied by the low hum of a chuckle that passes through his lips. “Am I?” He muses the leading question – all for the sake of his ego, of course.

He listens as she shifts slightly to keep Danta pressed against him while he focuses on pouring tea into both cups one handed, adding all the mix-ins he knows Danta prefers while swiftly adding his own. The sedative is sunk into Danta’s cup while the butcher forgoes his own, pressing his cheek to the Maverick’s crown before the rumble of his voice is heard again. “Would you like to try it now, darling?” It wasn’t like they needed to worry about burning themselves or anything, and maybe the sweet tea would be perfect enough to blot out the hint of the sedatives taste.

Astaroth

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

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

"You say that," Danta drawls, his voice a little muffled where it's pressed into the crook of Asta's neck, "but I distinctly remember you kissing me the last time you had to take some, so I know exactly how bad it tastes. You're lucky your lips are so sweet in comparison." He smirks against his throat. His own tail sweeps in slow, content arcs across the bed, the Maverick falling quiet to enjoy the heat and solid presence of the other man, the slow thrum of his pulse and the subtle shift of his body as the kettle whistles and he prepares their tea.

"You are," he purrs. "I could fall asleep right here even without the tea." It probably wouldn't be a long sleep and he'd likely wriggle about until pain woke him up, but the point still stands. Luckily, Asta offers him something that will mean he won't move - or be aware of - very much in only a few moments. "Mm, that sounds wise. Since you went to the trouble of making it."

Nuzzling against the line of the butcher's jaw and carefully sitting up enough to accept the cup, Danta gives it an experimental sniff before taking a long sip - just in case it does taste awful. But there's no twist to his face, merely a thoughtful expression as he tilts his head down a tthe cup. "Tastes like peppermint," he says.

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

“Oh, you poor thing, you.” Comes the deeper drawl, amusement lacing his tone. “I imagine it is only half of how terrible it was to drink it in its entirety.” It’s playful, a momentary pause of humor injected in the soft sweetness they share in the moment that he fixes up their tea. Distraction comes in form of paying attention to the hum of Danta’s voice while also ensuring he doesn’t spill any tea. “You do need it, though.” He hums, even if he’s sure the Maverick’s words are entirely in jest.

He has gone through the trouble of making it, indeed.

Warm and content to feel the way Danta nuzzles against his jaw, the butcher’s arm tightens around the blonde, shifting them enough to be able to sip from their cups. Of course, Asta waits until the Maverick has taken his sip, dark honey gaze focusing entirely on his face to try and glean any ticks or shifts to see if the sedative is that much better.

Pleased to see little to nothing appear on Danta’s face except something contemplative, Astaroth’s smile tugs up on the corners of his mouth. “Wonderful.” He hums — considering it a miracle, all things considered. “Shall we get comfortable, then?” He asks, already prepared to keep Danta against him and/or carry him to put everything away and to shuffle back into the bed beneath the covers.

Astaroth

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

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

"Oh, well I wouldn't know about that," Danta says with a shit-eating grin; he's been lucky enough not to have to take the full dose of Asta's previous sedative. And this one isn't half bad, the Maverick continuing to sip at his tea happily enough even as he feels his extremities and his eyes start to grow suspiciously heavy. "Daaaamn, how much'd you put in here?" he wants to know, slurring around the words a little.

Getting comfortable is about the only thing he's capable of, if he's honest, Danta draining the rest of his teacup and fumbling to put it to the side (Asta will need to help him, in truth) and all but slouching back against the other man like putty. "Mm, I think 'm already comfy," he mumbles, fighting to keep his eyes open and sighing out a warm breath against the butcher's neck. "Jus' move me where you want me."

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

He wouldn’t, but Asta can’t blame him. If anything, the butcher is happy that Danta doesn’t suffer the way that he does, able to rest with decidedly less dangerous outcomes for stressors. At any rate, he hums his acknowledgement, sipping from his own tea and lets it warm him up further from the inside out — content, until Danta’s voice becomes slurred and Asta focuses less on the idle gentle nuzzlings and sips from his tea to instead try to keep the laugh from leaving his throat as he does help Danta place the cup where it can’t be spilled or dropped. “It was not that much, darling.” He informs him, keeping him pressed against him despite knowing that it’s likely the last thing his lover wishes to do.

“You may be a sedative lightweight, my dear.” Pulling back enough to flash a wink, the butcher continues his plan of settling them. The cups deposited on the nightstands, the fire billowing out warmth, the kettle placed in a way to cool without causing trouble, only to finally settle beneath the blankets with Danta as his own personal one. “How is this?”

On his side of the bed, he reaches over to fumble with the nightstand, retrieving the smooth metal muzzle. But he doesn’t put it on yet, instead choosing to let his fingers card through tousled blonde to nudge him enough to place one last kiss before he must abandon keeping his hands on the Maverick if only to get the muzzle into place. Extra precautions and all that.

Astaroth

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

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

"Liar," Danta says through a pout, forcing his eyes to focus up at the butcher as if trying to read on his face how much sedative he'd really dumped into his drink. "I ain't a lightweight on anythin'," he objects, despite potential evidence to the contrary. Either way, his protests don't last for very long, the Maverick forced to concentrate instead on staying awake long enough for Asta to clear everything up.

Huffing out a long sight and shifting as best he can to assist (it's not very much, let's be honest), soon enough Danta is at least flaked out atop the other man with their blankets draped over him, tail flicking contentedly beneath the sheets. "S'perfect. Let's stay here forever," he slurs, offering a dopey smile up towards the butcher just as he leans in for a kiss. "Don't go takin' advantage of me now I'm drugged," he warns against his lips, forced to shift back a fraction to let Asta play safety officer, the Maverick's head lolling against his chest.

"Maybe you should've had some medicine too," he suggests, a hand drifting up to brush over the intricate metal cage against Asta's mouth. "Gods, I love you so much."

Dantalion

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

“Evidently that is not entirely true.” Asta hums, smirking as he gets them all settled, ignoring the rest of it in lieu of the way Danta becomes very groggy and heavy atop him.

A snort leaves him as he goes to press into the kiss, withdrawing enough to respond to the slurred statement against his lips before he covers them up. “Excuse you. I am a gentleman, or have you forgotten?” He withdraws from the kiss to let his amusement crinkle the corners of his eyes as he lets the soft laugh slip from him while he places the muzzle into place.

The straps slip on easily, before the butcher is sinking back into the blonde’s space. His dark gaze finding Danta’s face while warm, pale, scar flecked fingers trace the metal cage trapping his weapon of teeth. His lips part to comment on the first statement, before his amusement fades to fondness at the follow up, Asta’s arms winding around Danta’s shoulders, tugging the blanket up. “I love you too, darling.” He purrs, nuzzling his muzzled face into the hand at the golden cage.

Astaroth

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

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

"A gentleman doesn't do the sort of stuff you just did to me on this bed," Danta says wickedly, his smile audible if not hidden in the press of his lips against Asta's collarbones. That's likely the last truly coherent remark the butcher will get out of him, honestly, and it took enough mental effort to keep his slurring to a minimum. Instead, humming something affectionate and pleased to hear the declaration of love in return, the Maverick's fingers slowly slip away from the muzzle and he lets out a long, heavy sigh as he settles down.

Asta will be able to tell when Danta succumbs to the sedative, the sweeping arcs of his tail beneath the sheets growing still, his breathing slow and deep, his limbs like dead weight. There's no snoring or shifting or trying to get more comfortable, and unless the butcher physically moves him to another part of the bed, this is exactly where Danta will stay until morning. Let it never be said that Isla Lockwood doesn't give out the good drugs.

~FIN

Dantalion