the way we work is masochistic

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

The two of them look quite normal despite being swallowed up in the dome of fire – no horns or tails to be seen, just the comfort of Danta’s chest, the darkness melded with the scent of the fire and char, mixed with Danta’s own comforting scent of citrus and sage, the strong tang of iron in the air. If he just closes his eyes tightly he can pretend and that should be enough to get through it.

He presses his face in harder against his lover’s chest, finally taking in a deeper breath that shakes at the end, before he nods slowly. “Thank you.” He manages to say without a voice crack, but he swallows hard after as if to maintain that theory that he isn’t as fucked up as he is by this. And with those thoughts, the counting of his breaths, Danta’s scent, and the exhaustion and pain already having gone through, he does fall asleep.

It isn’t as deep as it was before, but between the soft hum of Danta’s voice and the way his fingers thread through the hair at the nape of his neck, it’s a twitchy and awkward sleep but at least it’s sleep. It’s something to make the time go by faster for him, at least, and the crows do remain at bay despite the quiet and occasional croaks of curiosity from the light of the fire that keeps them awake.

Astaroth

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

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

Asta sleeps, and Danta waits. Only once he's convinced the butcher has properly drifted off does he let himself settle into silence, listening to the crackle of the fire and the distant croaks of the crows nesting nearby, but it's not loud enough to stir the other man from his slumber. And with his concentration on maintaining the flames that arch protectively over them, the Maverick is able to stay awake until he senses, somewhere in himself, that the sun has risen over the ridge.

Slowly - very slowly - he creates a partition in the fire he's made, able to see the pale orange of the morning sky, the light bathing his cheeks in its gentle warmth. With a soft smile, Danta leans in to press soft kisses to the crown of Asta's head, smoothing his hair back from his face so he can try harder to kiss him awake. "Hey," he whispers. "It's morning. You did it."

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

There’s nothing else to bother him in the night, and at least he’s reached the point of too far stressed that even his nightmares can’t reach him. Why would they, when he was already living it at the present moment? To sleep back under the same skies that had mocked him, to be surrounded by the same creatures that had taken from him?

He’s still in that uncomfortable sleep when Danta goes to wake him – feeling the press of his lips to the crown of his head and the smoothing of his hair. It causes him to flinch at first in his sleep, twitching, before his eyes open with a start and his breath hitches in his throat enough that he has to cough. Pulling back with the sudden panic again, he finds it minimal once he sees the sun lighting up the Climb. “It’s… over?” He asks, like he doesn’t trust it. Like he can’t trust it. But the look in his dark, exhausted gaze is almost hopeful when he looks at Danta instead of everything else.

Astaroth

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

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

Keeping his arms loose around the other man so he can pull away if he needs to, Danta is more patient than he's ever known himself to be as Asta comes around - and that above all says everything about his feelings for the butcher. "It's over," he confirms with a smile, his soft fingers drifting down to cup the other man's jaw, his thumb brushing across his cheek. "Here, see for yourself."

Continuing to lower the shield of fire, eventually the full panorama of morning is revealed around them. And there are no crows in sight, the corvids evidently haven gotten fed up of waiting for anything interesting to happen within the fiery dome, succumbing to sleep themselves. "It's done. We can go home." Smiling tiredly to the other man, Danta shifts a bit to stretch out on their combined bedrolls, feeling as if he'll need to take a long nap when they get back to the Grounds.

"Can I interest you in packing up our shit and getting the fuck out of here? I know a really good breakfast place, if you think you can stomach food. And if not, the coffee is great anyway."

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

His dark gaze scans Danta’s face first, as if trusting that it’s the only thing that will prove to him it’s not still just an awful nightmare. And it works, for the most part, when he doesn’t flinch to feel Danta’s fingertips trail along his jaw and cheek. It’s inherent trust that brings him to twist a little to spot the sky as the shield of fire lowers, as the area around them is blissfully silent. The air is cooler then it had been in the dome, and it almost feels like a rebirth of sorts.

Releasing Danta so that he can stretch, the butcher rolls over to face the edge of the rock, to take in the sun rising over the crust of the Climb as if it were some kind of fever dream – or perhaps he’s still exhausted and a touch in some shock. It’s with a shaky breath that he inhales that he sits himself up slowly, wincing at the pain in his palm as he uses it for the brunt of his weight, lifting it immediately to inspect. “I would love to leave as soon as possible.” He confirms, pushing through any thoughts he might linger on in this moment in lieu of getting the fuck out of here.

He still seems awkward, shut off, like he hasn’t fully grasped everything just yet. But he straightens his shirt, and slowly gets to his feet. Loosening his glamour, his horns and tail unfurl into existence again, and the butcher rises, immediately moving to roll up the bedroll and whatever else Danta needs, silently like a machine, so they can get out of here as quickly as possible.

Astaroth

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

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

"I thought you would," Danta says with a soft smile, arching against the stone for a proper stretch before rolling over to get himself to his feet as well. Shivering a bit and dropping his own glamour, he stifles a yawn behind his hand and starts to roll up his own bedroll as well, tightly folding the fur to go inside it. Once he's stuffed everything back into the pack and slings it on his shoulder, he reaches out to snag Asta around the waist to draw him close.

"I love you," he tells him, voice low and the words almost kissed against the side of his neck. "I know this was shitty and difficult. But it really is over now. Come on - let's go." Reaching out for his good hand, Danta slips his fingers against Asta's to lead them down from the ridge. It isn't often that they walk hand in hand, but this morning calls for it, he thinks.

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

the evidence is on my body
but I never complain

It’s a companionable silence that the butcher packs up his things, fitting the bedroll into the pack amongst Danta’s own, and while he draws their little campfire down into nothing but embers, he finds himself glaring at the puddle of metal that’s hardened from the spike when Danta snags him. It draws him out of the dark trails his mind has gone, slowly wrapping his arms around his lover as he feels the press of his words against his neck.

Curving into the embrace and giving him a short but tight squeeze, trying to relay all of his appreciation for this in the swift and quick touch, the butcher nods. “I love you too.” He murmurs softly before they withdraw, easily letting his hand be taken, and perhaps it’s a touch too tight for the walk but he really does need it this morning.

He’s silent on the walk back, though he takes the moment to appreciate everything about the sun rising in this corner of the Climb, to relish in the fact he’d made it without any new physical scars, and with someone who understood intimately what kind of feelings he was dealing with. So much so, that the butcher does have an appetite by the time they make it back to the Grounds and to that breakfast space the Maverick had suggested.

- FIN

Astaroth

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