walk past a devil child

and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow

It’s a lot. So much so that when Asta finally has a chance to take a breath that isn’t all heady sweat and humidity, he has a moment to wonder if he’s claustrophobic. It isn’t so much that as it is the aversion to being touched that really gets him, as he’ll think about later, with the unknown strangers around that drag them into the fold, bodies pressing up against them in a variety of ways both intentional and not.

Danta, at least, is fully in his element, right on the beat with a flashy shake of his head to set his glamour up, which is a very good idea and one that Asta also indulges in. His horns melt away and his tail no longer a threat, but it does fuck up the long dark strands of his hair into falling whatever way their movements have dictated. “It is a lot.” He responds belatedly, shifting to press his answer into Danta’s cheek.

It’s a gesture that doesn’t last, though, because suddenly his hands are covered by someone else, the intent to pull the Maverick away from him that has him on high alert. There’s no tail now to whip into the crowd, but there are other subtle ways the butcher can work around it. He bites back the snarl for the way he moves deftly and expertly, ignoring the other bodies around him as he zeroes in on the one that has the audacity to think he can get Danta away from him. His hand lingers on Danta’s chest as he swoops around, deftly pressing himself in closer and knocking the stranger away from him. Given the liquor, he can’t tell if their hands tighten around Danta’s hips or not, but the butcher’s hands replace them deftly as he crowds in, flashing a snap of his teeth to the fool before his cheek is pressing in over Danta’s shoulder. “Is everyone this bold?” He asks on the air of a hiss.

Astaroth

'cause there ain't no other place to go

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"We can go and sit back down whenever you like," Danta promises, a little out of breath and all but draping himself against the butcher - until a pair of hands seem to have other ideas. Laughing at first and backing up a few steps, he's fully intending to tell the interloper that they are very sweet, but not tonight, when Asta goes ahead and makes that play for him. Giving a much different sort of vibe, he might add, one that has heat curling low in Danta's belly at the same time as he offers the other dancer an apologetic wink.

All but manhandled back against the butcher - not that he'll ever complain - he lets one of his arms loosely drape around the other man's neck, keeping them close enough to easily advertise that they aren't to be interrupted. "Mostly," he admits, the words uttered through a smile against Asta's temple, his free hand coming up to run his fingers through the other man's dark hair to help keep it out of his face. "Have you had enough? I doubt we're at risk of napping any more."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow

Whenever he likes would likely be an absolute buzzkill given the fact he wants to say maybe right now, but that’s before hands snake in against Danta’s hips that aren’t his own. It ignites it tenfold, even if he tries to be good, flashing the warning with his teeth as opposed to much else. And it’s that possessiveness that keeps him pressed intimately against Danta, leaning into the hand in his hair like it’ll soothe the feral beast within.

(It does.)

“I do not wish to ruin it if you are still having fun.” He admits to him, eyes a touch softer but still wary as he feels the crowds around them brush against them and his back. It makes his skin crawl, but he’ll stick it out if Danta wants to continue to enjoy the dance. It’s the least he can do.

Astaroth

'cause there ain't no other place to go

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"If you're not having fun, then neither of us is," Danta assures him, feathering his fingers back through his hair and peppering his cheek with kisses, before he starts to lead them out of the crush of people. All without parting from the other man even an inch, of course, which is a feat that Danta is skilled in but for much different reasons. (Usually he's trying to exit the dancefloor mid makeout session).

Only once they've escaped the initial crowd does he part from Asta a fraction, letting his glamour drop and spending a good few moments fussing over the butcher, ensuring his outfit is neat and sharp and unruffled and that he's as suave and dangerous as ever. "It's a lot different to ballroom, isn't it?" he says softly, a smile on his lips even as the cocktails and shots continue to pulse the beat of the music through his blood.

"Do you want to step out for some fresh air?" he offers, nodding towards one of the side doors. It's not really an offer, in fact, Danta already guiding them in that direction.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow

The smile he flashes is equal parts apologetic as it is grateful, less toothy and soft for the Maverick than it would be for anyone else. It’s a smile that fades as he feels the press of peppering kisses against his cheeks, with Danta deftly cutting them through the heaviest portion of the crowd. “It is vastly dfferent.” He admits. Luckily, he already feels as if he can breathe again, sucking in a long and slow breath as they move further out, following Danta’s lead in loosening his glamour once he’s sure the Maverick’s hands are nowhere near his hair to be hit by their reappearance.

“Please.” He hopes it doesn’t sound as much like a plea as he thinks it does, the reddening of his face still on full display as he keeps one hand in Danta’s and follows him out of the bar, the cool air greeting them in comparison to the heat of the inside. He takes a few longer breaths to settle himself, squeezing Danta’s hand before he’s sinking back against the wall just outside it. He tugs Danta closer to him, because while he doesn’t want anyone else to touch him, he definitely craves Danta’s touch still.

Astaroth

'cause there ain't no other place to go

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Well, if it helps, you put me completely to shame when it comes to any actual dancing." You know, rather than just bumping and grinding on the dancefloor in The Hanged Man. Danta smiles over his shoulder and lets the side door fall shut behind them, leaving them in the dappled afternoon light beneath an awning. The crash of waves replaces the beat of the music and the voices from inside, accompanied by the distant call of seabirds and, farther away still, the murmur of dockhands and merchants and other citizens going about their day.

Taking a long breath in and sighing it out as well, Danta turns at the gentle squeeze of his fingers to find Asta slumping against the wall. Happy to close the distance between them, he leans in against the other man, one arm gently curling around his waist, the other brushing across his cheek as if to dust away the flush he finds there. "Sorry," he says, voice pitched low enough that the apology is for the butcher's ears only.

"I didn't think about the number of people. I blame the whiskey." Leaning in to rest his head against Asta's shoulder, his tail flicks slowly at his heels, as if contrite as well.

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow

“I could teach you.” He says a touch distractedly, happy to think about the whole ballroom style of dancing because at the very least he knew what to expect. There was distance and intimacy, but at least you knew where it was coming from, never a surprise with the precise and careful movement of your steps. He misses it, having underestimated the intensity of the dancing that occurred these days. He’d also underestimated himself, thinking the warmth in his bones and the alcohol might bolster him.

It didn’t, unfortunately, but at least he has the sound of gulls and hels, and the waves crashing down the street, to offer a good semblance of distraction as he soothes his heartbeat. His arms slip around Danta’s waist as he’s fussed over, he hears the apology and shakes it off. It wasn’t the Maverick’s fault. “It was my idea.” Comes the soft hum before he’s keeping Danta close, tucking his nose and mouth into his lover’s golden crown.

Truthfully, he hadn’t thought about it either. “I thought I had been getting better with touch, but I too blame the whiskey.” He laments, pressing a grateful and surprisingly gentle kiss to Danta’s forehead. “Evidently I am not as well off as I thought I was. Or perhaps it’s the sheer number of strangers.” Amid his aversion to feeling pressure against his scars unless he knew directly from whom the touch came from.

Astaroth

'cause there ain't no other place to go

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"You could really see me behaving myself in a ballroom setting?" Danta asks dubiously, raising his eyebrows and not bothering to hide the amusement on his face. "Granted, I suppose it would be nice to show off with you if we were ever at some fancy masquerade or something." Sighing, as if accepting the butcher's instruction is a real hassle, he gives him a warm nod. "When we get back to the Grounds, you can give me my first lesson," he invites.

Contently draped against Asta against the outside wall, he can't help but wrinkle his nose as the other man - of course - immediately absolves him of the blame. "Mm, but I went along with it. I'm just glad we got out of there before anyone got bit." That, at least, earns a brief smirk against the column of Asta's throat.

The hand that had been lingering on his cheek now moves to fuss over a lock of dark hair, curling it absently around his finger as they talk. "I don't think you need to get better with it," he says, eyes closing briefly with the kiss to his forehead. "Not liking to be touched doesn't mean there's something wrong with you. Especially in a crowd like that."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow

Snorting to hear Danta’s response, it does shake him out of the momentary claustrophobia that has overtaken him in this drunken state. “I think you could, provided you had incentive.” He admits, back pressed against the wall letting the dappled light of the evening dance across the fire obsidian of his horns and his hair. “I look forward to it, darling.” And he does – a distraction for the moment while he starts to finally relax, knowing what to expect around them.

The cry of a hel, the soft murmur of people as they pass by, the dull thump of the music behind them. “Mm, I did come close.” He admits, though they both knew that already. It wasn’t a surprise when he’d snapped at that dancer that had the audacity to think he could get away with taking Danta away.

Tilting his head into the touch at his hair, his blinks slow for a few moments as he indulges, taking his slow and deep inhales, holding them in for a few practiced seconds before exhaling. “I do not like not knowing.” He admits ruefully, honey eyes blinking open to find Danta’s face. “What intentions people have.” Comes the clarification, the tug of a frown on the face that otherwise harbored a permanent smile.

Astaroth

'cause there ain't no other place to go

// too many war wounds and not enough wars //

"Oh, that's quite true," Danta concedes with a huff of laughter. "And if anyone can provide the appropriate incentive, it's you," he adds with a smirk. Absently tucking his fingers down the waistband of Asta's slate grey pants, as if it's not enough to merely feel the heat rolling off him through his clothes, the Maverick leans in to nibble affectionately at the side of his lover's neck, teasing the lock of dark hair through his free hand.

"If you had," he informs him, voice muffled against olive skin and the scent of blood and pineapple, "I would have lied for you. Said it was a particularly biting wind, or something." With another quiet laugh, he finally draws back to look up at Asta properly, blue eyes uncharacteristically soft, but then given the amount of booze in their system, it's not all too surprising that emotions are running close to the surface.

Reaching up with his thumb to brush it across the butcher's lips, so usually adorned with a smile, Danta seems to think to himself for a moment before nodding his slow agreement. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asks softly. "I'll go in and tell Flora she can come and find us at her house. I'm pretty sure I know where it is."

Dantalion

// too few rounds in the ring and not enough settled scores //

and you'll wake up all alone, on an old beat-down dirt country road
and you'll crawl back through fire and snow

He knows precisely the kind of incentive the Maverick might need to engage fully in a ballroom setting - but those are thoughts for later, for when it actually happens, because right now there’s the warmth of Danta’s hands slipping into his waistband as he radiates heat both from being Ancient as well as being drunk. Luckily, though, there’s no overheating for them, and so he’s more than content to wind his arms around him and fully begin to relax into the nibbles at his neck and the way he can feel the vibration of his lover’s voice as well as hear him.

A huff of a soft laugh escapes him, his head angling down enough to press against Danta’s shoulder, to breathe in the scent of tart cocktails, sage, the briefest barest hint of lemon (because he hasn’t been working at the bar here as he often did in the Dusklight). “I do appreciate a good cover up.” Even if he knows that wouldn’t have flown for an excuse, the answer is sarcastic as it is full of appreciation.

Lifting his head back up in time to feel Danta’s thumb brush against the frown that’s found its place there, he meets soft blues. The offer is one that the butcher immediately latches onto, pressing a soft kiss to the pad of his lover’s thumb. “Please.” A rare occurrence from the butcher’s lips, but one he asks for all the same. “I will stay out here and wait for you.” It beat having to go back in and brave the crowds, at least.

Before Danta can leave, though, the butcher leans in and steals a kiss, one that aims to settle any lingering feelings of discomfort. And it works, because when he pulls away he flashes Danta a soft smile, releasing him finally so he can go and tell Flora while he waits patiently for the Maverick to return so they might go and sneak into her home.

- FIN

Astaroth

'cause there ain't no other place to go