[SE] with dirt on your knees and blood in your teeth

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

As Danta’s back arches, they grow flush with one another, the curve of his body lining up against the butcher’s chest, his fingertips spreading out to keep the pressure applied as he leaves those possessive marks, greedy and full of just how much he missed him.

He doesn’t mind the wrinkle in his shirt, especially now when he’s got ways to straighten them back out. So Danta’s free to clench the smooth fabric of his shirt as the butcher’s kisses pause briefly, stuttering almost to hear the admission, unbidden and for his ears only.

It guides him back out from Danta’s neck, to trail kisses along his lover’s jawbone toward his lips, laying another claiming kiss upon him before he withdraws again, chest heaving slightly. “I love you too, darling.” He murmurs with all the confidence of a man not in the misty fog of nightmares, or after a fight, or when they’re so inebriated all of the thoughts spill from their lips.

It’s with another wave of wind that pelts rain against the windows that the butcher surges back in, twisting them so that he can fit between Danta’s legs and shed his shirt, releasing his glamour so that his horns and tail can return without worry of knocking into the headboard or wall. “Might I show you how much I missed you?” He asks as he folds the shirt mostly well enough, tossing it toward the end of the bed to likely be knocked off in the middle of the night, but he finds he doesn’t care as his dark gaze returns to his lover’s face.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

Unsure what to expect in the wake of his admission, Danta leans readily into the kisses that trail along his jawline before meeting Asta's lips again, his grip tightening on the other man. And it's a good thing, too, the Maverick just about having time to offer a pleased smile before he finds their positions reversed, his back pressed into the plush softness of the bed and the butcher looming over him.

"I think you'd better, or I'll start to feel neglected," he teases, eyes roving hungrily over Asta as he sheds his shirt properly and settles between his legs. Danta can't be counted on to keep his hands to himself at the best of times, his fingers pressing into the tops of the butcher's thighs before they reach for his belt to start unbuckling it. However Asta wants to show him he missed him, the Maverick assumes he won't be doing it with all of his clothes on.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

He might be unsure of what to expect, but it’s nothing but open arms and warmth and an outpouring of honesty that floods from the butcher’s lips to hear it so unhidden. It fills him with warmth somewhere deep in the crevices of his wicked heart, where he forgets time and time again that he can feel it. So he does twist them, ensuring that while Danta fills him with warmth and love verbally, that he can offer it physically in turn – knowing how much the butcher doesn’t exactly indulge. And it’s been a while anyway.

So, the low rumble of a laugh escapes him to hear the tease, hips jut ever so slightly as his belt is unbuckled, watching him for a few moments as he slips the belt out of its loops and intervenes only to help speed up the process before he can focus fully on Danta’s own remaining clothes – however damp they still might be. "We cannot have that, can we?" Only once the both of them are shed of their clothes, the butcher leans down, back curving to press warm kisses to the insides of his thighs, his palms hot where they rub against the sides of the Maverick’s thighs, pressing up and up as he follows the movement with his lips, alternating between each leg.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"We certainly can't," Danta says, the words a rough whisper shaped by a wicked smile, his hips lifting to aid Asta in ridding him of the rest of his clothes, even as he tosses the belt somewhere over the side of the bed. It lands with a dull thump that Danta doesn't hear; having expected to wecome Asta back against his mouth, as the other man turns his attention to his inner thighs, all firm hands and soft lips creeping ever higher, most of his senses seem to go a little haywire.

Skipping in a breath as a curl of heat flares low in his belly, he watches the butcher's progress through hooded, molten blue eyes reaching out to thread his fingers through his hair, careful of the sharp tines of fire obsidian that crown his head. "Are you lost?" he teases - not that he's at all complaining, but if the other man needs direction, the Maverick can certainly provide it.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

It’s a calculating series of thoughts that the butcher indulges in as he specifically does not choose to delve into another kiss, instead focusing his attention on the insides of Danta’s thighs. His dark gaze is hidden by his mostly closed lids, going off of feel much more than sight — at least until he feels the threading of fingertips through his hair, avoiding the fire obsidian tines that poke out right at him.

It’s the question that as him fully opening his gaze, dark and void of light as he peers up at his lover, lips quirking in the twist of his traditional sharp smile. “Not in the slightest.” There were times where he loved to indulge Danta right away, but there were other times where he preferred to tease and taunt until the Maverick’s mind was little more than crossed wires, sparking and twitching with each new spark.

This time seems to be the latter as he lowers himself again, dark eyes focused wholly on Danta’s molten blue gaze, rising up and up his thighs until it seems as though he’s about to capitalize on indulging him. He wets his lips, hands shifting, knuckles brushing against the length of his lover’s cock, before in a swift movement he shifts his attention, nipping at the inside of Danta’s thigh surprisingly gently and cautious, but still sharp enough to draw a bead of blood. It’s a simultaneous movement that has his opposite hand wrapping around his length in a languid stroke.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"Oh, I see," Danta purrs, eyes narrowing playfully as they focus on the man between his legs whose gaze seems to swallow all the light in the room. "Not lost, then. Just an intentional detour." One that Asta seems keen to stretch out for as long as possible, if he's not mistaken, but with the plush warmth of the bed against his back and his senses flooded by the butcher's hot breath and possessive touch, he's very happy to exist moment to moment for as long as it lasts.

Nevertheless, as he watches the other man's wicked mouth turn away from his aching cock to prick a bead of blood from his flesh instead, he can't help the soft moan of surprise and pleasure that catches in his throat, his fingers tightening in night-dark hair, especially as the butcher's fingers finally bring a second of relief. Arching automatically into the attention, he inhales the faint coppery scent in the air and bites at the inside of his cheek as if to keep his composure.

"You're going to wind us both up like this," he warns, in case Asta might have forgotten.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

It's a very intentional detour, that’s for sure. And as the blood hits his tongue, it sparks the rest of him to life — relishing in it and the way it lightly paints his lips a deeper scarlet. Such that, as he rises right when Danta’s back arches as he strokes his length, his smirk blooms to life on his face as he keeps that relatively languid pace.

“I thought you preferred that, Dantalion?” He hums, cocking his head sharply but still carefully, enough to force his lovers hand into his hair a bit harder but ensuring the tines of his horns can’t cause any damage. “Unless I am mistaken, darling, in which you should probably tell me before I go any further.” He hums, hovering above Danta’s hips with that small smirk still on his face, his hand withdrawing until he hears what it is precisely Danta wants.

He’s absolutely being a menace about it, but he can’t help it.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"Preferred what? Being teased within an inch of my life, or having you between my legs? I don't know if it's fair asking me to hold a conversation when you've got me in such a compromising position," Danta says with a huff of breath and a soft, distracted laugh, his eyes fluttering shut to feel Asta's hand stroke him at a slow and not enough pace. Trying to cage another moan of anticipation, it tapers into a frustrated hitch of breath as the butcher's fingers leave him entirely.

"Fuck," he whispers, and while he can't be said to be glaring at Asta, there's certainly something wicked in his blue eyes that suggests his patience is wearing quite thin indeed. "Asta, please," he whispers, almost under his breath, as if the other man might take pity if only he knows how much Danta wants him.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

“Me wound up, in particular.” The butcher hums with that cocky, knowing smirk, the sharp flare of his teeth only slightly on display as he very much winds the Maverick up – teasing and taunting in the ways that he’s learned how precisely it drove Danta crazy. Little did he realize that while he works quite well at being a menace, that it had the direct results of what he wanted to hear so quickly.

Perhaps Danta’s catching on?

He sees the glare, the wicked promise of some kind of retribution that he finds himself quite curious to find, but as the plea leaves Danta, it works quite well. Flashing a too sharp grin toward Danta, the butcher moves all at once, like a cat pouncing on its prey. He reaches out, lifting Danta’s hips slightly as he spreads his legs underneath his lover’s legs, before he hovers back over the blonde. “Have I become this predictable?” Comes the dramatic whine, even as he gives in. One hand finds Danta’s length again, this time the pace is faster, the grip tighter, winding him up enough that he can press the tip of his own cock against Danta’s entrance. His other hand snakes up the Maverick’s chest, cupping his cheek and pressing his thumb lightly against the underside of his jaw to tilt his head up to steal a kiss (or to muffle the retort).

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

"Oh, that?" Danta grins, all fangs and mischief despite the last threads of his self-control wearing dangerously thin. "Well, yes. You're right about that - I do adore seeing you wound up." He also enjoys the cocky, self-assured butcher currently settled between his thighs, don't get him wrong, but he's got every intention of being Asta's undoing before the night is through.

Nevertheless, his eyes widen a fraction to have the other man suddenly pinning him down in earnest, though Danta is far from complaining, a moan of surprise and pleasure punching out of him as he's so effortlessly manoeuvred in Asta's grip. Curling an arm around the back of the butcher's neck and arching further into the expert stroke of his fingers, his lips part in a crooked smile. But the never he's about to say is swallowed up in the hot press of Asta's mouth, and the Maverick loses himself to their kiss.

Tangling his free hand back in his lover's hair, he hooks a leg around his hips and drags him suddenly closer, as if to urge the distance between them to dwindle to nothing at all.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

He very much knows Danta likes to see him wound up, but hearing it claimed so easily is a comfort he didn’t realize he needed so much as he makes his move. Everything is deliberate, from the way he pins the Maverick down, shifting him just so, lining them up before he’s able to indulge his lover in precise and quick movements, calculating despite the way his attraction and arousal would suggest otherwise.

He stakes his claim with a greedy kiss, drowning everything the Maverick might try to say. His hand moves a quick pace while the butcher leans into the hand in his hair and the way Danta’s leg hooks around him, his breath hitching as he’s tugged closer. It works, though, while the butcher refrains from being as immovable as a statue. The movement itself is rather bratty, but rather than comment on it, the butcher rewards him by giving in – breaking the kiss to trail his lips and panting, warm breaths down against the sharp edge of his jawbone.

Sinking into Danta, it’s with a purred groan of the Maverick’s name against his jeweled ear, a sudden hesitation and pressure applied to his wrists where he’s pinned him before he manages to balance himself to loosen that hold and snap his hips, picking a quick rhythm to mirror that of his hand. “Well? Have I?” The butcher says through his panting breaths, bratty and mischievous in his own right, as if allowing Danta to answer the question now that he’s mostly satisfied.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

Pinned down and fucked is one of Danta's favourite places to be, even more so when it's the butcher doing the fucking, and with every quick snap of Asta's hips and pant of rough breath against his ear, the Maverick drowns further in his quickly mounting pleasure. Meeting each of the other man's thrusts with nails biting against his shoulder blades and fingers twisting and tugging at his hair, Danta has never been one for quiet or restraint, and were the rest of the Dusklight not already tuned to the symphony of moans and cries of ecstasy, he might even stand a chance of being heard over it.

"You could never be predictable," he promises, panting his response against the sharp curve of Asta's jaw, sharp teeth nipping at the soft skin just beneath it (and he isn't intending to draw blood necessarily, but neither of them are likely to complain if he does). "Though there's something to be said about knowing how well I'm going to be fucked by you." He grins. Because the butcher never disappoints, either, and the sudden hitch in Danta's breath proves as much. "Gods, Asta - just like that--"

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //

// once you're in my shining cathedral, heed the tolling bell //

It was one of his favorite things, the way that Danta was always so carefree and unbidden in his pleasure, that there was nothing quiet about the way that the Maverick loved. It was like a fire, all consuming and powerful and enough of a force to drag the butcher — the opposite in nearly every way — into the fury of chaos. It was beautiful, and Astaroth couldn’t help but to be swept up with him.

Even if he was intentionally being stubborn.

“Good.” Danta drags him out of it, giving into the sounds and movements of their body, each snap of his hips to each sound received, driven closer toward his edge with the scrape of sharp teeth against his jaw and neck. And while it isn’t the intention, one of Danta’s sharp fangs slices open a scratch beneath his beard. The scent of iron floods through him and he burns that much hotter for it, keeping his lover pinned while he angles his head to steal a brutalizing kiss. His other hand continues that quick pace against his length, aiming for the goal of getting him off first before the butcher can’t hold his back any longer.

Astaroth

// it's the final sound you hear as you descend to hell //

// I wish I had a reason //

Caught in a sudden kiss, Danta's hitch of breath is snatched from his lips, his moan rumbling through his chest as his fingers flinch in their grip on the butcher. Asta doesn't so much as bring him to climax as he shoves him brutally over the edge of pleasure; the Maverick doesn't have time to give any warning, doesn't have time to properly realise it himself - caught as if in a riptide, suddenly the world crackles with white static and his tongue wants to curl around Asta's name like a prayer.

Locking his legs around the other man's waist as if worried he's going to disappear, Danta eventually has to drag himself out of their kiss to gasp for air and groan out some exclamation of praise or love or whatever other madness has seized him. Still arched tight like a bowstring, chest heaving, it all suddenly feels like too much - too much sensation, too much heat between them, too much of the smell of blood and smoke and honey - but at the same time, Danta wants little more than to drown in it completely.

Dantalion

// my flaws are open season //