burned me up and down

// you knew who I was //

Danta is interested in the conversation above only as a symphony of breath and sentences that don't quite flow; he can hear - more or less - what he thinks the topic might be, but in truth his focus is more on how to get Flora to pay attention to him instead. His fingers press a fraction harder against the soft curve of her ass, enough to leave fingerprint bruises, and his tongue flicks an almost devouring rhythm against her.

Her hips tilt forward and Danta hums his encouragement - and at don't stop, he absolutely knows his role is now to do exactly what she fucking says unless he wants a stiletto heel to the temple. Still, shifting ever so slightly as if to part her thighs further for him, he peeks up the length of her body to the familiar hands squeezing and corsetting her curves, and a fresh thrill of heat surges out from the base of his spine.

Dantalion

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

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

The idea of calling down Frey — while it makes sense coming from her lips — it’s an exact opposite of what the butcher wants. Perhaps it’s his adoration of Dygra or the experience with Safrin, but the butcher’s rather keen to keep this little trio just that. Her nails rake against his neck and her teeth scrape against his skin and all the while he’s ensuring he’s got a good hold on her as he feels her body shift beneath his touch, courtesy of Danta’s hard work.

The hand she covers with her own obliges her request, squeezing, while the other lifts to cup the opposite side of her face, narrow fingers threading along her throat and in her hair. “I will be fine, do not worry.” He purrs, angling his head enough to press his lips against her cheek and jaw, his caress gentle but strong.

It’s the deep accented rumble of his voice that punctuates his slight adjustment, ensuring her weight is mostly on him as he senses the tension flooding through her. “Cum for us, darling.” Comes the quiet demand, punctuated with another kiss to her smooth golden skin, squeezing her breast and tangling his fingers in her hair.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //

flora

Flora is unravelling. Not delicately, not sweetly, but with the messy, glorious intensity of someone who’s been holding herself together for far too long. Danta’s tongue works her with a precision that’s criminal, pulling moan after moan from her throat, and when Asta’s voice rumbles that low command in her ear, her knees nearly buckle beneath her.

Her fingers tighten in Asta’s hair like she could somehow pull the pleasure closer as the other claws against his neck for purchase. Her head falls back against the butcher’s shoulder, lips parted against his jaw as she moans—loud and utterly unbothered by how shameless it sounds.

The ache, the loneliness, the hunger she’s swallowed for weeks all condense into a single, burning point of release that she focuses on like her life depends on it. With no telepath to curtail her reactions, Flora allows herself the theatrics that she's so missed: her breath catches, her back arches, and when she breaks, she grinds her heel against Danta's lower back as if meaning to smother him against her.

Flora's balance wavers, her body trembling in Asta's arms as her orgasm surges up from static in her toes before reaching a boiling point between her thighs. For a shining moment, there is nothing. No Torchline. No exes. No aching absence of Jack in the corner of her mind. Just the rush of blood in her ears and the shimmer of sweat on her skin, her heartbeat echoing like the tide inside a conch shell. She floats in it—weightless, boneless, free—caught somewhere between starlight and shipwreck, her body humming like a struck string still reverberating.

It’s only the slow drag of breath against her neck that reminds her Asta is still holding her, arms firm and steady around her trembling frame. Only the gentle shift of Danta’s hands and the brush of his mouth against her thigh that grounds her again. She’s draped between them like something sacred and spent, barely tethered to her own skin.

Already her body is shifting again, hips pressing back against Asta with unconscious need, leg twitching against Danta’s shoulders. Her desire doesn’t wane; it deepens, expands, turns greedy in the wake of satisfaction. One hand reaches up blindly to cup the side of Asta’s face, the other dropping low to thread into Danta’s hair, fingers curling possessively. She doesn’t say a word, but the message is there, sharp and silken in her touch.

More.

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 //

Listen, if this is how Danta goes - smothered to death between the thighs of an drop-dead gorgeous woman in the throes of ecstasy - first of all, no one would be surprised, and second, as if he's going to complain. Riding out the crest and fall of Flora's orgasm with her heel digging into his back and his hands clutching her steady, by the time he's able to snatch in a breath, the world has gone a little hazy at the edges for more than just alcohol. Her moans of pleasure still echo in his ears, the Maverick softly panting against her inner thigh and painting further slow kisses there, even as Flora starts to come around.

Rather than being spent, though, the Doubletake seems starving, her fingers twisting possessively in his hair. And so it's with a crooked grin and a quick, dark glance up towards Asta that he rises back to his feet. "I hope I didn't miss anything important," he says, voice husky from exertion, his hands already drifting to the buttons of his jeans where he might free his aching cock from the tight confines of the fabric. "You certainly did."

This he directs to the butcher, and even as his hand reaches out to caress Flora's cheek, he leans into her to get to Asta's lips, so he might taste her on his tongue. "Well, Flora?" Parting just enough to glance down at her, he lets his fingers drift further south, caressing the swell of her breasts. "It's your party. You choose." Choose who and where and how and how rough.

Dantalion

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

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

Her fingernails scrape against his skin, harder this time, emitting a low rumble from the butcher’s throat to the pale pink lines left behind against his skin. Her head falls back against his shoulder and he refocuses on holding her as the waves of pleasure reach a cresting point. Asta leans back ever so slightly to allocate for the arch of her back, his hand at her neck and cheek dropping to get a better hold of her as he feels her tension break, as he feels her vibrating against him.

The tremble is there, but as she recovers Asta’s hold loosens a touch. Hands smoothing down along her stomach as Danta rises, a breathy groan passing his lips as her hips press back against his. Her hand cups the side of his face and he nestles into it, dark eyes hungry as he takes in the Maverick. A soft kiss is pressed to Flora’s palm as he answers. “You will have to show me.” He purrs playfully in return to Danta, finding himself perfectly content in being trapped in between Flora’s hand and Danta’s kiss.

He dives into the kiss with an almost consuming sense of desire, spurred by the iron taste he shares and the taste of Flora on his lover’s tongue — such that when he parts, he’s careful to keep her steady between them, but enough that he has room to finally start unbuttoning his waistcoat and then to his own tented pants. “At your mercy, Flora darling.” He purrs near her ear, teeth clicking quietly.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //

flora

The taste of arousal still clings in the air, thick as honey, and Flora—panting, glowing, ravenous—lets her eyes drag over the men on either side of her. Her body thrums, not with satisfaction but with renewal, like lightning running through soaked earth. Their voices curl around her like silk and smoke—You choose, At your mercy—and it sends another ripple through her, a flush that climbs from chest to cheek.

Her hand slips from Asta’s jaw to trail down his chest as he opens his waistcoat, her nails grazing over the rise and fall of each breath, making no attempt to be gentle. With her other hand she reaches out for Danta, her fingers brushing just beneath the waistband of his jeans if he hasn't freed himself already, as she looks up at him, gaze molten and unwavering.

"I want both of you," she breathes, low and sure, her voice sanded raw from moans and liquor and too many weeks of trying not to feel anything at all. "At once."

She doesn't wait for permission. Her movements are fluid and unapologetic as she gestures for them both to follow, lowering herself onto the plush chaise a few steps away, sprawling back with the elegance of someone who’s more than happy to be gazed at. draw me like one of your french girls. Settling her lower back against the armrest that she could easily arch herself over it, one of her leg drifts to the side as her arms stretch out toward the Maverick. "Danta," she says, curling a finger toward him, her tone all molten command. "I want to taste you." Then her gaze slides to Asta, head tilted in mock innocence. "And you..." Her smile turns feral. "I want to feel you."

It isn't accidental of course, that the way she'll have them positioned will have the two ancients facing each other, well within easy reach of one another. For all of Flora's pent-up need and greediness, she knows that there are more tastes to quench between them than just the ones she can offer.

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 //

Danta's hips tilt forward automatically at the brush of Flora's fingers against the waistband of his jeans, the Maverick drawing back from where his mouth has been lingering against Asta's cheek to gaze down at her. And gods, as she speaks - as those molten words register and drip a panorama of sordid images into his mind - his eyes darken with arousal. "Who the fuck could say no to that?" he purrs, letting her peel herself away and watching as she goes to arrange herself like temptation incarnate on the chaise.

With Flora's brief absence, of course, Danta takes the opportunity to fill the space with himself, letting his hands press to Asta's chest as he melts against him, knowing the friction between their bodies will only wind them up further. "You better fuck her good," he whispers to the butcher, pressing his tongue to the sharp tip of one fang and leaning in to paint Asta's lips with fresh blood. "I'll be watching."

Then he's gone, prowling over to join Flora at the chaise in whatever position she'll have him, shedding his clothes as he goes and reaching out to bring her hand to his mouth, pressing a crimson kiss to the back of her palm.

Dantalion

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

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

Her hand trails along his chest, none too gentle, though the butcher can hardly feel it aside from the pressure with the rough scar tissue that sits there. His fingers work quickly to get the waistcoat off, baring the rest of his skin as she makes her decision. His tail curls in quiet delight as she steps away, hearing Danta’s agreement, and he watches with dark appreciative eyes as she makes her way over to the chaise.

Her absence leaves Danta against him, the warmth blooming between them as he noses in for a kiss as the fresh scent of iron blooms between them, his lips painted further in red, the tang burning and coiling deep in his chest. “When have I ever disappointed?” He purrs against Danta’s mouth, letting him pull away so he can slip out of the rest of his attire — save for the crow charm on his wrist.

He prowls after them, reaching the other side of Flora where his warm hands caress her calves to her thighs, a gentle and reverent motion, dark appreciative eyes soaking her in as he bends to hover over her and indulge her in a full and deep metallic kiss, pulling away a touch too soon to rise up and cup Danta’s cheek before he’s settling between Flora’s legs, his dark gaze finding her face, heavy with want and hunger. “Is this what you imagined?” He purrs to her, sharp teeth tinged a touch red in the smile he flashes toward her.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //

flora

Flora stretches along the chaise like sin draped in sunlight, her limbs loose with invitation but her body singing with anticipation. She’s bared already in more ways than one, and the way they both look at her now makes her feel weightless and golden. Worshipped. Wanted in a way that has her skin smouldering beneath their gazes.

Flora tilts her head back against the armrest, the crown of her curls spilling over the edge, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as the burn of expectation slides down her spine. Her lips part as his fingers trace her knuckles and she can already imagine the weight of him, the taste of salt and copper, of heat and something far older.

At the other end of her, Asta’s hands are a study in contrast—hot and reverent, trailing slowly from ankle to thigh as if relearning every inch of her. She parts her legs easily for him, wrapping around his hips like a wave curling over rock, letting him settle between them as she arches slightly, lifting her hips in offering. His mouth finds hers in a kiss that starts slow—smoke instead of flame—but deepens with the heat that coils beneath it. Flora moans into it, tasting metal and memory, clutching at his shoulder like it might steady the shiver that runs through her, before he's gone far far too quickly. The purr of his voice and his red-stained smile have her wordlessly nodding in almost desperate anticipation.

There's more to her need of course: Jack’s silence, Koa’s distance, Kaisel’s care. A landscape of heartbreaks carved into the softest parts of her, bruises she’s painted over with lipstick and laughter. But right now, with Asta’s body poised like a statue between her thighs and Danta’s presence looming above her, that pain is quiet. Not gone, but soothed. Smoothed down by touch and heat and the sacredness of being wanted.

And gods, does she want.

"No one cums until I say so, mm? It is my party, after all." So saying, Flora tips her head back even more, arms stretching out behind her to guide Danta into her mouth that she might begin to repay the torture he'd so effortlessly shown her earlier.

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 //

"Never," Danta purrs - and he doesn't anticipate Asta to start now. Still, as he slinks over to Flora, spreading herself out like dessert for the two of them, he can't help but eye up the butcher the same way the Doubletake is doing, because gods if she hasn't put them both in a position where they can drink in Asta in all his prowess. "Hmm...?" His eyes flick down to Flora, long fingers teasing through already impossibly tousled curls, a smile curliing across his lips.

"It is your party," he agrees. "Quite how you're going to be able to tell us anything is beyond me, though." Not if she's so busy tasting him. Speaking of which, that's evidently something for the Maverick to worry about later, because in an impossibly smooth display of skill and acrobatics, Flora's hands are reaching for him, and he gets a front row seat of his hard cock disappearing into her mouth.

Stuttering out a moan of surprise and pleasure both, one of his hands lowers to grip the back of the chaise, the Maverick hissing in a breath and keeping his eyes pinned on Flora, as if to watch the moment when his lover takes her for his own.

Dantalion

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

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

It’s true, for all of the butcher’s original apprehension toward diving in completely, very little of it remains in this moment. He’s learned a lot thanks to Danta and his own person, cravings and desires and ways to alleviate the initial impulse of devouring. There are other ways to satisfy it, things he’s learned after Flora and he had their dalliance.

Flora pulls him in and he’s steady as a pillar as she does, curving into her with a hum of appreciation, even as he hears her demand. His gaze lingers on his lover when he answers, the agreement with the sentiment one that goes unvocalized with the view of Flora tugging Danta in. Fire curls in him at the sight and the moan, deciding little time is to be wasted as he adjusts, one warm hand smoothing along the outside of her thigh, hitching her up against him until his own hard length presses against her slick heat, sinking into her with a smooth and almost exploratory thrust.

The low groan rumbles from the butcher as he hitches forward, his freehand reaching for Danta’s wrist while his tail curves to wrap the ashen tip around Flora’s other leg. He spends a moment like that, feeling her stretch around him, the warmth that he craves, before he’s withdrawing agonizingly slow so that she can, in fact, feel him, before he snaps his hips back into her, fingertips digging into Danta’s wrist and the curve of Flora’s ass simultaneously.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //

flora

Flora’s mouth stretches around Danta as he fills her, the weight of him pressing against her tongue as her lips seal around his length, head tipping back to encourage as much of him as he had to give. She moans low and languid, the vibration sent humming up through him and down through her own body, reverberating like the bassline of some decadent, private song. Her fingers splay against his hips, possessive and guiding, digging into the sharp lines of bone as she begins to move—slow at first, a tease of lips and tongue—meant to be more promise than fulfilment at this point.

Then Asta presses into her, and the breath she would’ve taken is stolen in an instant as her back arches as he sinks inside with that first, deliberate thrust. The way they’ve pinned her—Asta’s hand curling over her thigh, Danta’s wrist still gripped in hers—grounds her in something visceral and electric. Each movement from Asta earns a sound from her, muffled and needy, her body tightening around him in a rhythm that quickly betrays how greedy she’s become. And gods she still wants more.

Danta’s cock slides deeper into her throat with each bob of her head, each tilt of her neck guided by his grip in her hair. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she doesn’t stop. If anything, the heat pooling in her belly only grows more insistent, coiled tight between Asta’s relentless thrusts and Danta’s growing tension against her tongue.

For all the (many) benefits of fucking a telepath, Flora was a creature of theatre and excess, of lipstick stains and bitten-back screams. She liked being watched. Liked making those around her lose control just from the sound of her breath hitching.

And now with no one in her thoughts, no one parsing out the performance from the truth, Flora felt free; when she moaned low and wet around Danta, when she arched her hips up to meet the next pounding thrust from Asta, it didn’t matter if it was real or not—because the hunger on their faces, the sharp sounds in their throats, told her they believed it, and gods that's what made it real.

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 //

Luckily for Flora, they are all of them creatures of theatre and excess in this little guildhall, though Danta's bitten out curse is all real. His fingers flex around Flora's wrist as if to hold her in place - or hold her at bay, he doesn't know - and his own hand is pinned by Asta in turn, keeping him tethered in more than one way to the chaos of all that's unfurling. "Fuck," he groans as she takes him further into her mouth, and it takes every shred of willpower not to thrust his hips forward.

So instead he turns his attention to Asta, watching him fuck the Doubletake ruthlessly and effortlessly, as if he's stepped right out of one of Danta's darkest fantasies and onto the chaise before them. "Make her moan for me," he purrs to the butcher, blue eyes flicking back down to Flora expectantly, waiting for the thrum of sensation around him to drag him closer to the edge, until the torture of it is something he can no longer stand.

Dantalion

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

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

She tightens in all the delicious ways that have more heat and tension building within him, curling and coiling like smoke through each of his extremities. She moves with and against him effortlessly and perfectly, and he watches between the sharp inhale of breaths that rise from her chest and stomach, to the way she takes Danta so beautifully.

Whether it’s exaggerated or not, Flora’s dramatics are very perfect for the two Ancients that adore drama and chaos, and when Flora’s rumbling moan leaves her around Danta, the butcher craves exactly what Flora does. More.

“Gods, a hitch of his breath is heard as his hips stutter a touch, as Danta’s purr reaches his ears. And it’s only then that he releases his lover’s wrist to lean back into his own space. Both hands (and tail) find Flora’s hips and legs, fingertips pressing into the smooth pliable skin for a bruising purchase, shifting her and then his own stance to allow him to fuck her deeper and harder, driving himself with a purpose enough to rattle the movement she’s carefully designed to take Danta’s cock. “Mm, better darling?” He purrs to his lover, pulling his dark heady gaze away from Flora’s perfect shape to look up at his lover with affection and smug delight.

Astaroth

// and i'll paint it red //