burned me up and down

// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //

He realizes it is likely very out of left field - but left adrift from the encounter with Maea and the way Danta had protectively curled around him, he’s already felt the shift within him. And let’s be honest, it’s the least he could do for his dear friend, especially as she curls into his touch. And with Danta here, there’s no worries as to what he might think (even if he’s fairly confident that the Maverick would be game for it regardless). So, at her acceptance, the sorrow and loneliness in her gaze begins to vanish and the butcher appreciates drinking in the shift she embodies. She glitters and dazzles, true to her moniker.

Hearing Danta’s agreement to the liquor in the back while eyeing Flora in her stunning attire, the butcher’s lips quirk with a bit more amusement this time than the mischief that had been there before. So he downs the second Pina colada, setting the empty glass down just in time to start standing - when Danta’s gentle caress brushes against his jaw. Dark honey meets curious blues in a subtle nod the Maverick would be able to feel. I am sure.

“Then it is settled. No heartbreak and no wasted liquor.” Obviously. Comes the belated agreement. He stands after Danta and Flora have already been standing, smoothing down the front of his vest where it had bunched up from how they’d sat, tail flicking lazily behind him as he offers his sharp smile to both the Maverick and Doubletake, hoping that it will help Flora feel better. At least ensure to her that she isn’t alone. They’re already in motion, though, so the butcher’s arm is offered to Danta, trailing behind Flora and silently admiring the way her beautiful attire swishes against her skin and shifts with her movements.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //

flora

With the two Ancients trailing like shadows spun from heat and sin, Flora makes her way toward the back of the Hanged Man, pausing just long enough to call out for Sohalia. Her heels click over the wood, slightly uneven from the drinks already swirling warmly in her veins, but she’s graceful even when tipsy, her hips swinging with the kind of careless confidence that comes from knowing half the room is watching and none of it matters.

Past the storage rooms and washrooms they go, until she reaches the door at the end of the corridor. It takes her a second—maybe two—to fuss with the hidden latch, but then it yields with a soft click, revealing the hush of the Thieves Guild. Moonlight filters through the high slits in the stone, brushing over terracotta floors etched with quiet history. Cushioned couches beckon, and the secondary bar gleams in the shadows; stocked with her best, most illicit bottles.

Spinning too quickly, Flora stumbles with a soft oop! of laughter, catching herself against the wall. Her cheeks are flushed with heat and drink and something a little more wicked. She turns to face them, curls bouncing, corsette riding high against her ribs as she rests one hand dramatically against her hip.

Glancing between Danta and Asta with a slow, inviting smile, Flora reaches behind her to close the door. "What can I get you?" she purrs with a wave of her hand toward the gleaming bar that not so long ago Asta had helped put together.

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// you knew who I was //

The nod, however subtle it may be, is more than enough for Danta, and he offers a softer smile towards the butcher before turning back to shadow Flora through the throngs of party-goers, his tail flicking at his heels in anticipation. Still able to feel the rippling heat from Asta's body as a phantom against his skin, paired with the music Flora makes with her body as she moves and it's a wonder the Maverick's patience holds out long enough for her to let them into the back room.

He spares the place little more than a cursory glance - it isn't the first time he's been here, but it's probably the first time he hasn't been renovating the place at the same time. Glancing sharply around as he hears the Doubletake stumble accompanied by a peal of laughter, he tilts his head and steps towards her rather than towards the bar. "I think you know," he purrs, reaching out to let his fingers tease through one golden curl before dropping to catch her hand and draw her close against him.

"The real question is what can we get you?" Turning as he steps further into the room, it's with the intention of backing her up against Asta that he cocks a smile towards the butcher, because he knows how much he likes to be pressed between him and something hard.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //

Listening as Flora calls out to Soh, he remains that pillar at Danta’s side as they slip into the back rooms, as he settles at Danta’s side while Flora fiddles with the latch, opening up the space into a familiar one - dressed in moonlight and a hazy warmth that only Torchline nights tended to offer. He doesn’t linger on the specifics, either, instead letting his head drift toward Flora to hear the oop! and laughter.

Letting Danta go, the butcher doesn’t drift toward the bar, either, humming a deep rumble of a laugh to accompany her own. He does step in further so he’s not stuck against the door they’d just entered from, but enough that when Danta’s drawn Flora against him and walks her back, it isn’t a far trek until Flora’s back presses against the smooth vest the butcher wears, the bumps of scar tissue beneath it felt minutely, but warmth radiates.

Easily slipping his arms around her sides to rest his hands on Danta’s sides, he flashes the Maverick a sharp smile in return as he dips his head and presses his bearded cheek against Flora’s own, taking a small step forward to press her in between them more. “We are eager to oblige whatever it is you desire.” Comes the butcher’s own purr, lips brushing against her cheekbone as his dark gaze flits toward Danta.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //

flora

Flora's pause isn't hesitation—it’s anticipation. A moment suspended like a breath caught between waves, heavy and trembling with everything unsaid and everything she’s longed to feel. There’s no mistaking what she wants—not with the way she tilts her head back into Asta’s shoulder, the way her lashes lower as heat pulses through her chest like a second heartbeat. It’s been too long since someone touched her like they meant it. Since someone wanted her just because, not in spite of all the chaos she carried with her.

Her arm twists to allow her fingers to slide up into Asta’s dark hair, slow and searching, curling at the nape of his neck as her cheek tilts flush against his. Her lips part on a sigh, crimson against the olive warmth of his skin, as she turns her gaze to Danta, hungry and electric. The curve of her smile is soft and aching, like she’s starving for something she doesn’t quite have the words for.

With her other hand, she trails her fingertips up the hem of Danta’s macramé shirt, nails skating gently along his abdomen, testing the weave of it, tugging softly where the threads start to loosen. The motion is deliberate—a silent question disguised as a touch, even as her hand rises, ghosting up the line of his chest to his throat. The pulse she finds there is strong, steady, and while the liquor in Flora's veins makes her bold, it hasn't yet made her careless.

She shifts slightly against Asta, pressing her lips just beneath his jaw with the kind of delicate reverence that belies the need clawing up her spine. Her voice is a whisper, fragile and low. "Are you sure?" she murmurs against his skin, breath warming the place where her lips linger. While the Maverick might have the ability to read his lover's mind, Flora certainly does not, and when it comes to the butcher, she's misread his politeness as being something more, more often than she'd like to think about. Even so, her fingers dance at Danta’s throat; close enough to test the tension, to feel for any change that might signal jealousy on Asta's part instead of invitation.

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// you knew who I was //

There are very, very few people Danta can imagine might be able to stand between he and the butcher like this (though all of them are blonde curiously enough, Asta), and Flora's gentle care, even in the midst of something that begs to become reckless and carnal, is one of the many, many reasons she makes the list. "If he isn't, he can always watch," he suggests, the fire in his voice belied by the quiet reassurance in his blue eyes, an expression promptly ruined with the clutch of warm hands against his sides and Flora's nails skittering across his throat.

Tipping his head back ever so slightly, revealing a necklace of faint and silvered scars, Danta can't help the way he wants to sink to the ground, instead sandwiching Flora between them for the moment as calloused fingers seek to untie the delicate lace of her corset. "Remember when we were at the Dusklight, and nothing happened between us other than toy practice?" he purrs to Flora, even as his eyes lift to Asta. "Not even when I was on my knees between your legs? I'd like to change that now."

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //

Akin to the fyrhund under his skin, the second Flora’s hands plunge into the butcher’s dark hair, his head is tilting into the touch - the dark of his gaze warm and confident where he watches Danta’s reaction from where his head is tucked in neatly. His arms cage her sides in, a warm press of olive against Torchline tanned porcelain with the gaps of skin her corset offers with each shift of her hips.

Her lips press just beneath his jaw, her question a quiet whisper of checking in, and while their history had been tangled with multitudes of mixed signals and wanting nothing more than to please her, he knows precisely what he wants. And it’s to Danta’s own response that sparks a warm huff of a laugh that brushes against her cheek. “On the contrary, I am quite sure.” He purrs to them, knowing that Danta would keep him in check if he starts to go a little too praying mantis-y.

So for now, his own hands drift down to Danta’s hip while he works at Flora’s laces, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of his shorts, giving a little tug. He meets the Maverick’s gaze as they lift to him and he shifts just enough to crane down to press a kiss to her neck, warm and surprisingly tender for the sharp teeth she’s familiar with that sits within. “And I would like to change the time we had in Frey’s Breath.” He murmurs into her skin, before he’s nosing his way into her blonde curls.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //

flora

Flora shudders as their words curl like smoke against her skin, low and laced with heat, and there’s no part of her that doesn’t ache under the weight of their attention. Her breath stutters, caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan, as Danta’s hands work the ties at her back and Asta’s mouth finds the tender curve of her neck. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't thought of having the two ancients as they were just now, but nothing in those private fantasies came close to the real heat of their bodies pressed against hers, or the reverence in the way they touched her now.

She tilts her head instinctively to bare more of her throat to Asta’s kiss—something which ought to have made her pause given the extent of what she knew about him now, but there was no part of her that didn't trust him—fingers tightening in his hair as if to anchor herself against the rising tide of sensation. Her hips rock forward with an unconscious need, pressing into Danta’s hands as he loosens the delicate tension of the corset. Each inch undone makes her feel a little more untethered, the lace of the garment a poor defence against the kind of hunger building between them.

And yet—gods, it’s not just lust that flares behind her ribs. It’s that molten, secret desire to be wanted, fully and without hesitation. Not for practice. Not just to shut her up. But for her, right now, in this heat-drenched room where the past and all its ache had followed her in, only to be peeled away one trembling layer at a time.

"I've thought about it," she confesses, voice husky as her gaze lifts to Danta, heavy-lidded and unapologetic. "So many times." The feel of Asta’s teeth grazing gently along her neck has her arching toward him with a soft, involuntary sound, her nails trailing down Danta’s chest like she could memorize the shape of him through the unravelling threads. "But I think I'd quite like to be reminded of how you look on your knees."

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// you knew who I was //

"I think I can manage that," Danta purrs, barely resisting the urge to simply tear through the lace and discard the corset if only because he knows Flora will likely want to put it back on later. And so instead, almost infuriatingly gentle, he finishes unlacing the garment and draws it away from her golden skin, allowing the warm caress of the air to taste her flesh before being replaced by their immediate, devouring heat.

With Asta keeping them pinned together, it's with a wicked slant to his smile that the Maverick leans in, lips brushing across Flora's cheek, hands sweeping up her sides to cup her breasts, before his mouth bypasses her entirely to catch the butcher's in a hungry kiss. Humming a note of greedy satisfaction, his hips rocking forward against the Doubletake so she might feel already what the two of them are doing to him, Danta is left breathless as he finally makes his descent to the ground.

Left gazing up at the two of them, all doe eyes and devilish grins, Danta leaves Flora's in Asta's very capable hands as he goes about unbuttoning her shorts to let her shimmy out of them, dragging his own excuse for a shirt over his head as he does.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //

Drawn to the slender golden expanse of Flora’s neck as she exposes more of it for him, the butcher takes full advantage of the opportunity. His kisses lingering, smelling of sweet coconut and smoke, a soft and warm press while Danta works and Asta’s fingertips in Danta’s waistband aim to urge the point. He shifts only to help tug the corset free from where it’s smooshed between him and Flora. He doesn’t drift far to set it aside, doing his best attempt to toss it somewhere it won’t get trampled on, with Flora’s fingers tight in his hair to keep him precisely where he is.

He noses into her golden curls briefly before Danta’s surging a bit closer, capturing the butcher’s lips in a consuming kiss — obviously because the Maverick would likely be busy on his knees. So they part with the low rumble of desire slipping from the butcher’s lips, a calculated slice of his teeth against the inside of his cheek fills the previous coconut and smoke with a twist of metallic iron, but enough that he can leave a brief rosy press of his lips against Flora’s throat while also pressing his hips into her as Danta kneels.

One hand abandons the Maverick for Flora’s smooth skin, the warmth of his hand radiating as it flattens against her stomach and rises to her breast, his thumb brushing across her nipple almost idly as if trying to see what kind of reaction she might have to be the main focus. His other hand remains on Danta, rising as he lowers, his fingertips threading through blonde curls and against the smooth ridges of diamond horns. “A lovely view, isn’t he?” Comes the butcher’s purr to Flora’s ear; head tilted enough to be able to watch the rise and fall of Flora’s chest and his lover between her legs. It sparks more of a thrill through him, the embers of his desire sparking into a wildfire.

Only once Danta has fully settled and gotten her free of her remaining attire does the butcher’s hand leave him. Rising to join the other at Flora’s chest, cupping each of her breasts and giving that electrifying attention with each pass of his thumbs. His tail sweeps over, curving around his and Flora’s hips to brush against Danta’s neck and shoulder. “He truly excels with his mouth.” In so many delicious ways.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //

flora

Flora gasps as the corset slips from her shoulders, the sudden coolness of the room a stark contrast to the fevered heat of their hands and mouths. Her skin blooms with goosebumps, though whether from the temperature or the worshipful way Danta’s palms curve beneath her breasts, she doesn’t care to decipher. She’s caught—gorgeously, deliberately—between them, and if they were fire she’d let herself burn.

The kiss shared between them above her stokes something deeper than lust. She watches, breath held, as Danta claims Asta’s mouth with shameless hunger, and feels the tremor of arousal ripple through her as Asta responds in kind. Her legs tighten, breath catching in a shallow moan when Danta’s hips press forward.

Then he sinks, and Flora doesn’t even try to hide the way she watches him go—doesn’t mask the raw want in her eyes as Danta’s lips trail heat over her stomach, unfastening her shorts with maddening care. She shifts her weight, hips lifting to let him peel the denim away, baring her entirely save for the stilettos still strapped to her feet. Somewhere above, Asta murmurs, his voice a purr poured like honey into her ear.

Her head tips back against his shoulder, a breathless laugh escaping her at his words. "I doubt I'll disagree with you," she whispers, her voice ragged with want as she's momentarily pinned by need as Danta kneels before her like worship, like hunger, like it’s the only place he ever meant to be.

The flick of Asta’s thumbs across her nipples steals another moan from her, hips twitching toward Danta as her hands both reach blindly up into his hair. Gods but she wants them. Wants the ache behind her ribs to be exorcised by their mouths, their hands, the delicious weight of their bodies pressed against her own. Leaning back against the butcher, Flora slides her calf along Danta's shoulder as her head turns to find Asta's jaw with her lips, her teeth grazing over the pulse point there. She can see the blood on his lips and it gives her an idea. "If I could make it so you couldn't hurt me.." she whispers, before her words are carried away on a sharp inhale as the graze of one thumb over her nipple sends a current directly down between her legs. "..would you like that?"

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!

// you knew who I was //

"You're going to make me blush," Danta warns playfully, sitting back on his knees to carefully guide Flora's legs out of her shorts, careful of the scarlet stilettos he fully intends for her to keep on. Smirking up at them, head tilting into the butcher's hand in his hair and the tail that brushes across his neck and shoulder, the Maverick readjusts enough to get comfortable, before reaching out to help guide Flora's calf along his shoulder.

"You hold on tight, now," he purrs up at her, watching with shameless lust glittering in his eyes as she leans back into Asta's grip, as his lips press bloody rosettes against her throat. Letting one hand slide like silk along her outer thigh to cup her backside, Danta wastes no further time in getting to work. And while he might be guilty of a lacklustre performance in other arenas, in this, Flora will find him to be very hard-working indeed.

Burying his head between her thighs, a hot tongue plunging against her slick heat, he rumbles a note of approval and gives her ass a firm squeeze, dragging his lips up to pay some very overdue attention to her clit.

Dantalion

// with every step that I ran to you //

// make me bleed if you need to confirm that it's something i can do //

There’s certainly no disagreements tonight, between the view and quick work Danta provides, the click of Flora’s heel as she settles her weight into him and her leg over the Maverick’s shoulder. His arms become a cage of sorts, ensuring she stays upright and pressed against his chest. Her lips and teeth find his pulse and his horned head tilts just enough to give her plenty of expanse, an opportunity to leave marks if she so chose to.

As for her words, broken up as they are, a low hum escapes him as he thinks quickly about her offer. He doesn’t want to hurt her, though he knows if his teeth get anywhere near her the risk is ran. He’d already planned on the bite onto Danta, given Flora’s distaste of it the last time they’d done this, so it’s with a brief, iron and pineapple sweet sigh that the butcher inclines his head into Flora’s temple and wild golden curls. “I do not wish to hurt you, darling.” He hums softly, fingertips swirling and teasing at her chest as he focuses the timing to attempt to mirror Danta’s movements.

Curiosity does get the better of him, though, in just how she could manage that. “Out of pure curiosity, however, how might you manage that?” He isn’t really considering it, content with focusing his attention on her rather than himself, keeping her against him as he lets his accented voice vibrating against her.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //

flora

Flora gasps, sharp and breathy, as Danta’s tongue parts her and the world narrows into heat and sensation. It’s been too long—too many nights curled alone in the sheets, Jack's absence a ghost at her back—and gods, this is nothing like that. With Jack, there had never been need for guesswork. He’d had the luxury of her thoughts as well as the rhythm of her breath, the arch of her spine, the exact angle of pressure that would unravel her. Danta of course doesn't have that edge, but somehow in the moment, that makes it more intoxicating. There’s a wildness to it, a hunger that doesn’t predict but explores, and as her hips roll reflexively into his mouth, Flora finds herself moaning helplessly, breath stolen.

She shifts, writhes against Asta’s chest, trying to grant Danta better access and melt into the butcher’s hands all at once. "Fuck—" the word escapes her in a fractured exhale as the Maverick finds her clit, lips and tongue drawing stars behind her eyelids. Her nails rake across Asta’s neck in a shiver of need, the edge of her teeth catching against his jaw as her lips part against his skin. "I know you don’t," she whispers, voice ragged with pleasure, her words trembling with every stroke of Danta’s tongue. "But… I could ask Frey. Make it so I can’t feel the pain."

She moans again, low and wanton, her body tipping slightly forward only to be caught and held steady by Asta’s arms. "And I’ve got fountain water," she adds, nearly gasping the words now, her thighs trembling against Danta’s shoulders. "It’d be fast. Easy. If it would help—if it would...do anything for you..." The words are nearly a plea. Not for herself—though Danta’s mouth is drawing her closer to release with every passing moment—but for the butcher whose touch never bruises unless he means it, who she knows fights every instinct not to bite. If there’s any gift she can give him—any indulgence, any surrender—she’d offer it gladly. Just to be wanted again. Fully. Completely. Unflinchingly. To overwrite their time in Frey's Breath, as he'd said.

One hand tangles deeper in Asta’s hair, the other reaching blindly to grasp one of his hands over her breast and beg his fingers to squeeze. "Don’t stop," she breathes, helpless now against the tide that’s pulling her under.

We can't make any promises now can we babe?
But you can make me a drink.

Code blatently stolen from queen of codes, Sky!