don't need love when it comes in a bottle

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

“I do not know, either.” He admits with a snort, shaking his head slightly when they settle back in for the plan they’re making. “Mm, and us to recover from your birthday gift.” Because while it wouldn’t be tiring in the way that the past couple of weeks have been, the butcher knows that the hunts tend to take a lot out of the both of them – though likely nothing like the events that Charlie likely both has and had planned for today. “I think it sounds lovely, though.” He agrees warmly – all before he makes the playful withdrawal.

Spying the shift to the bright grin, he can’t hide the rumble of a laugh that leaves him when Danta jabs him in the ribs. He bends a little with it, rolling onto his back with a snort. “I suppose you are.” He murmurs, as if unwilling to let him get all the credit. But when he shifts and rolls over on him, the butcher relaxes immediately and wraps his arms around the blonde Ancient, keeping him close as he nuzzles his nose back into his.

That same charming grin remains on his face, sharp and playful. “Oh? Did you now?” He asks, leading and guiding as if to fill his ego – continuing to pry some of that normalcy to an otherwise unusual evening.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

"Ooh, good point. See, self-care, Asta. We gotta start getting good at it. Especially you, what with you being so old." Grinning broadly now, Danta tries to silence any objection the butcher gives with his lips, one arm braced against the pillows as he settles comfortably atop the other man. "It does sound lovely," he agrees eventually, the words almost mumbled into Asta's mouth and punctuated by another few kisses to his cheeks.

As for the very leading question, the Maverick scoffs and lets himself all but collapse against him, fingers playing through a few locks of dark hair. "Mm, I did," he agrees. "From a very tall, very handsome Ancient. I think his name was... Asteroid? No, that doesn't sound right. Ah, well - I'm sure it will come to me."

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

There is the immediate protest, and with the glamour in place, the butcher is unable to harbor a playful lashing tail when he’s called old. Instead, the only thing he can do it wrap his arms tighter around the Maverick and press obnoxiously into the kiss back — though it’s difficult to find the rage when Danta continues to pepper him with kisses, and despite all the bravado the butcher harbors close to his chest, he completely melts under his attention.

When the Maverick collapses, his arms sweep up and down his spine, dancing little patterns along each notch of his spine and over the silvery scars laid out against his skin. “A—” he cuts off with the laugh that bubbles out of him, not needing to be drunk for the laugh to end in a snicker-like giggle. “Asteroid??!?” He whines, tilting his head in Danta’s touch, a few raven black strands falling across his palm in the process. “Perhaps he was forgettable if you forgot his name. Too distracted by his beauty, were you?” He chides playfully, another soft laugh leaving him as he gives him time to answer before he surges up to steal a kiss, digging his fingertips in above his hips as if to keep him from pulling away. Not that he thinks he would, of course.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Little more than a living weighted blanket as Asta continues to smooth his hands down the length of his spine, Danta nevertheless knows better than to let up on his own affections. (Especially if he's purposely teasing the butcher now). Sneaking further kisses against the line of his jaw, he grins to hear the other man laugh about it - and gods if that isn't a sounds he loves. "Well, you know how bad I am with names," he reminds him, shifting just enough to be able to gaze back down at him.

"He was very beautiful--" He's just conceding as much when the butcher takes another kiss from his lips, Danta cut off in a soft moan as he melts into the feel and taste of the man beneath him. He pointedly is not going anywhere, and whilst it's been the sort of night that's still too raw beneath the surface for him to want to do more than kiss and nap and fuss over Asta, clearly Danta plants to enjoy every second of it.

"You know," he purrs as he draws back, "I'm starting to think it might have been you."

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

If you had asked him years ago if he’d ever thought he’d let anyone this close, the butcher would have aptly denied it – told them that you would have lost your mind. These days, however, the butcher can’t imagine a life without it. He finds himself craving the attention that Danta provides, even if he’d shied away from it. So used to being the unattainable – refusing to let anyone too close. You can look but you can’t touch.

And here he is, melting into the bed with the firewarmed heat of the Maverick against him, keeping him close, purring a content hum into the kiss when he snatches it once Danta answers – letting it settle in his chest heavily beside his inflated ego. His fingertips loosen when they part, his hands sweeping up his back again to his shoulders, fanning out in a wide arc against his shoulder blades. “Mm, alas my name is not Asteroid.” He drawls a little drunkenly from the kiss. Content to stay like this all night to hold and nuzzle and indulge in the makeout sessions until sleep overtakes them. “Fortunately for you, however, it is an easy one to remember.” He pauses, trying but failing to hide the smirk. “Would you like to try again, Dandelion?”

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Shivering and arching his back automatically into the long fingers that press and fan out against his shoulders, Danta's smile back at Asta is nothing short of lovestruck, and he leans in to brush his nose against the butcher's. "Is it?" he asks. "I recall not finding it at all easy to remember when we'd run into each other back in the Climb." Granted, that had been vindictive and on purpose and Danta had called him everything from Alice to Absinthe, but the point still stands.

But then Asta calls him Dandelion and he can't stop the laugh that scoffs out of him. "Did you just call me a weed?" he demands, relaxing enough to rest his cheek against the other man's chest as he peers up at him. "Not that it doesn't fit - I am a bit gangly, and very blond. But fine, fine, Astaroth," he purrs, letting his name roll off his tongue like something sacred.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

“Mm, I recall. It is funny how much I had to crow it about.” His name, he means, with all the nicknames that lied therein each time Danta would call him Aspartame and the like. But that’s neither here nor there as the butcher settles into this timeframe, because letting his mind drift back to the Climb centuries ago would be nothing good for the butcher’s state of mind when it comes to his apologies.

Instead, he fans his fingers out and drags blunt fingernails across his lover’s skin, gentle and soothing as opposed to anything else. He listens to the sound of the Maverick’s scoffed laughter like it’s the perfect melody he could hear over and over again and not get sick of it. “In fairness, it is a great weed.” He hums, his accent thicker as he tucks his chin to peer down at his lover pressed against his chest, peering up at him with those bright blues.

The smile lines on his face deepen to hear his name, the way it twists warmly in the recesses of his heart. “See, that was not so hard, was it?” His hand lifts to stroke through golden stands, paying special attention to the space his horns sat when his glamour is up, offering nothing but unconditional attention and adoration, bursting with love.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

"We could fill a book with the things you'd crow about up there," Danta drawls, not bothering to hide the smile that spreads across his lips, half hidden by the way his cheek is pressed to Asta's chest. "Your name, people getting blood on your clothes, if the air was too smoky that day, some random giving you backtalk..." Said random might have been called Danta the majority of the time, but he'll never tell.

Still, he realises when it's better to let the past go, especially at times like this, turning his head to kiss the ribbons of scar tissue against Asta's sternum. "Luckily," he purrs, "you've got just as many things to nitpick here as you did there." So says Dandelion, the great weed.

"Mm, no, I suppose it wasn't. It happens to be one of my favourite things to say as well, so I should hope I'm getting it right," he murmurs, tilting his head into the way the butcher's fingers caress through his hair. "...I know I should be tired, but I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight," he admits softly a few moments later.

He might be in a much better state than when Asta had found him, and a lot more sober too, but he has no idea what will happen when he closes his eyes to let his subconscious take the reins.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

“I would, too. Do not forget the broken canes.” He whines – as if the majority of them hadn’t been because he’d cracked them across Danta one way or another (or found the receiving end on the occasion he lost hold of it and the man currently in his arms decided to use it back). But it’s also something he doesn’t continue to tack on, drawing quiet again as he squeezes the Maverick close, nuzzling in as if there’s no other place he wants to be (he doesn’t want to be anywhere else, in all fairness).

Instead, he indulges in the gentle press of lips to his scars while the fingers of one hand dance little designs into the smoother scar tissue that lines the other Ancient’s back. “So many things.” He agrees with a small smirk, hard to see with their positioning but likely felt with the way he tucks his chin down to Danta’s crown, nestling in more among the other hand that threads strands of gold through the space between his fingers.

He hears the soft admission but doesn’t stop nor still or hesitate in the attention he offers in his gentle and smooth strokes. “I am happy to stay awake with you, darling.” He quietly vows, before his voice drops a touch. “Perhaps the spirit haunting the room may have some entertainment available?” He muses, tucking Danta in closer.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

Laughing at that, the sound soft and half lost in the warm space between their bodies, Danta can already feel his eyes wanting to shut despite what he's just said. But he knows if he sleeps it will be fitful at best and will certainly result in the sort of nightmares that will take him back to square one outside the inn. And while he wants to insist that Asta gets some rest, the idea of an all-nighter with the other man - especially given the late hour already - doesn't sound bad at all.

"It has been quite well-behaved since you stopped fussing with the curtains," he points out with a smirk, leaving another kiss against Asta's scars before shifting enough that he can peek out at the rest of the room as well as be tucked against his lover. "If we ask polite, do you think will be able to find some tea for us? Or is that a bit too much for a spirit?" And apologies to it if he's being unfair.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

He settles back into the pillows as Danta pokes his head up, soaking in the heat of the other Ancient like they’re both each other’s personal heat rock. “I know when to stop messing with them.” He boasts a little playfully – because Flora’s spirits adored him well enough, though he wonders if part of that is because of the Doubletake’s fondness for him. This spirit, however, he doesn’t know much about. But if it had freaked out with the curtains, he’s certainly going to leave them be.

There’d been enough haunting for one night.

“It never hurts to ask, does it?” He suggests, shifting slightly to clear his throat and ask – though the spirit’s been listening this entire time. Before the butcher can even get a word out, the door is opening to their room and snicking shut like the spirit’s old fashioned manners are on display. “Oh.” Asta murmurs with a soft laugh, one that radiates slightly through his chest. His fingers tap against Danta’s lower back as he peers at the door, awaiting the potential of it arriving with tea. “How long do you suppose we wait to see if it comes back?” He asks to Danta in a quiet whisper, his dark gaze slipping from the door back to his lover.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

"Yes, well, if only you knew to stop messing with all the other things that you stumble upon out in the big wide world," Danta teases, stifling a yawn behind his hand and humming a soft agreement when it comes to the platitude of don't ask don't get. Only it seems their little inn has its own plan, the Maverick jumping a bit at the creak of the door and blinking up at Asta as if he's the one responsible for it. But no, it seems whatever ghost inhabits the room has either left in a huff, or to indeed to try and get them tea.

"A few minutes, maybe?" he whispers slowly. "Hey, why are we whispering--" Cut off by an abrupt rap at the door, when one or either Ancients go to answer it, they will indeed find a small tea tray outside, complete with little cookies and a pot of sugar. Danta absolutely suspects it's just the innkeeper snooping, of course, but he's not going to look a gift in the mouth.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now

run, baby, run, run for your life
i'ma tear out your heart, it'll always be mine

“Tsk, I am so good at it darling.” The butcher replies with a warm laugh, an inclination of his head slightly. “I have always had a knack for sticking my nose in places it does not belong.” Humming thoughtfully, he sinks into the bed a bit and tilts his head. “Though perhaps in hindsight that may be the influence of the fyrhund.” If the feirw had affected him so abruptly, perhaps the fyrhund had its hold on him in other ways than just granting him a wagging tail.

But then the door is opening and snicking shut, and the butcher’s fingers fan out against Danta’s lower back as he whispers his question. To be met with the follow up of why they were whispering in the first place and gets interrupted by the knock at the door, Asta snorts softly. “I do not know. It felt as though it was the polite thing to do.” Not that it matters much.

He untangles himself from Danta with a kiss pressed to his temple, standing and approaching the door with the quiet confidence that he’s known for, opening the door to be greeted with the tray left behind. A grin sparks across his face as he collects it, bringing it in and closing the door, setting it on the bed for them. “The cookies are quite charming, no?” He asks, holding up the sweets with varying designs of random runes, antler, and bone shapes.

Astaroth

run, baby, run, run for your life

storm's comin', I can see the clouds

"Mm, well tell your fyrhund to get a better sense of self-preservation," Danta calls to Asta as he rises to his feet, magnanimously accepting his kiss and promptly sprawling into the warm space the butcher has left behind. "Then again," he continues, half to himself, "I suppose that's like asking me to stop enjoying shiny things." Wiggling ringed fingers at Asta as if to demonstrate, he finally sits himself up as the butcher turns with the tray in hand.

"Cursed cookies?" he purrs. "Don't mind if I do. What kind of tea did we get?" Cross-legged before the tray with a blanket around his shoulders and his hair a hopeless mess, Danta is already reaching for a cookie shaped like a finger bone; he's not normally one for sweets, but today he doesn't hesitate to take a bite of it. A shortbread bone - perfect.

Dantalion

No runnin's gonna save you now