[SE] 'til you get to the bottomland

// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //

His heart hammers in his chest, slowing down every few seconds, but mirroring the rain that pelts against the striped tent. Not that he notices it, only focusing on the person that matters to him. His eyes open, dark gaze taking in the blurred form of his lover’s disheveled face, dropping his weight slowly onto the Maverick so as to not squish him.

His tail loosens from Danta’s leg, sweeping across the furs as he indulges in the touch sweeping down his back, over scar tissue and sensitive skin that draw out gentle shivers and hitches of breath. “I’m yours, too.” His voice keeps with that Whitebrim accent, losing himself to the basest version of himself, his head drawn back enough now to be able to take Danta in perfectly well and reaching up to brush loose strands of gold from his face. The tension in his shoulders slowly starts to dissipate.

“Mm, well, it’s their funeral if they interrupt. I’m quite happy where I am.” The butcher’s red tinted lips quirk in a smirk as his hand drops toward Danta’s shoulders, to the teeth marks there. “Did we bring anything to heal you?” He asks, brushing away the blonde tipped in crimson, his head tilting as he inspects the bite more closely.

Astaroth

// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //

you're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself

"Mm, and don't you forget it," Danta purrs, slowly unhooking his legs from around Asta's waist and letting an indulgent groan rumble up in his throat as they relax together, little more than heat and blood and the sweep of spaded tails against soft fur. "Hear hear," he agrees of it being an interloper's funeral if they opt to peek into the bright tent in search of shelter, his head tilting carefully to the side as he realises Asta has come around enough to inspect the damage his love language often leaves behind.

"There's a first aid kit in one of the bags, I'm pretty sure," he says, "but if you're looking for magical healing we're a ways from Torchline, sorry." The islands are the only place he knows where the healing water retains its potency outside the region, but he hadn't thought to ask Flora if they might take some. "I'll live, surely," he adds, smirking up at the other man. "You just relax and unwind for a bit."

Dantalion

I'll break it to you easy, this is hell

// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //

It’s absolutely impossible to forget, not that the butcher would ever want to. Not when he has everything he could possibly want within an arms reach. Even as he melts against Danta and hums a soft exhale of content as the tension loosens from him and he focuses on the marks he’s left behind, does his dark gaze flit back to his fiancé.

“The first aid kit is what I was thinking of, yes.” He murmurs, the hand that had been brushing hair away from the bite marks lifts to gently pinch and nudge his lover’s jaw in a little affectionate wiggle before he releases him again and leans in, pressing a kiss to his lips, then to his chin, then the side of his neck in a pathway aimed for the angry and red bite left behind.

It’s a careful inspection, littering his lover with a bandage of apologetic kisses around the thankfully clotted wound before he draws back again. “Me? Unwind?” He asks with an amused scoff, sharp teeth a bit sharper in the din of their tent as the rain continues to hammer against the canvas. “Impossible.” He remarks with all the brattish, playful nature he knows, tail twitching against Danta’s with a canine’s wag.

Astaroth

// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //

you're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself

Snapping his teeth playfully at Asta's fingers as they spring open to grasp his jaw, whatever token complaint Danta might have been considering is trapped against the other man's lips, morphing into a soft hum of content instead. He's grinning to himself as the butcher's kisses migrate down to the superficial wound on the side of his neck, his own hand trickling back up the length of Asta's spine in an affectionate dance of warm fingers.

"Mm, I know. Whatever was I thinking even saying it?" Danta sighs theatrically, more than happy to play along with his lover's dramatics despite the wagging of his tail that gives him away somewhat. "Does that mean I ought to prepare myself for more of what we just did instead of considering a nap?" he wonders with a sly raise of his eyebrows.

The Maverick evidently doesn't mind either way - uptight and insatiable is part of Asta's Leafchange that he'd learned well last year, and there's a reason they're up in the middle of nowhere for these first couple of weeks. "Or," he supposes with a smirk, just to be a shit, "maybe I could force you to relax?"

Dantalion

I'll break it to you easy, this is hell

// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //

The snap of Danta’s teeth doesn’t dissuade Asta from the prize of snagging his fiance’s chin, if anything it bolsters the thought even more as he steals the kiss and continues to blaze a path down his neck. Distracted in part by the fingers that work magic against his spine, warmth exuding along all the sensitive skin and scar tissue, his tail twitches comfortably as he presses apologetic kisses to the wound that thankfully has clotted and become not as much of an issue as they had potentially been before.

It’s enough to keep Asta from retrieving the first aid kit to ensure he heals well from it, focused instead on the dramatics of Danta’s voice. “What were you thinking.” He hums warmly before he buries his face into the crook of his lover’s neck, amusement felt in the smile pressed to his skin and tickled by the scruff of his beard. He’s half tempted to tell Danta that yes he should expect much more of his insatiable appetite, but when he speaks next it entirely takes his attention away from the previous comment.

Lifting his head to press a kiss to his jaw, he rises back into Danta’s view – his dark gaze taking him in quizzically and amused. “Force me to relax?” He asks, his sharp teeth on display in the grin sent his way. “Consider me intrigued.” Shifting slightly to settle and watch as if Danta might be able to produce the possibility with the snap of his fingers, Asta waits to see what the other Ancient potentially has in mind.

Astaroth

// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //

you're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself

"In my defence," Danta says with a lazy shrug, "it's hit and miss whether I'm ever thinking at all." Grinning back up at Asta as he reappears in his field of view, the Maverick can't help but raise his eyebrows at the obvious and amused challenge in the butcher's expression. "You heard me," he purrs, levering his elbows under himself so he might get very briefly in the other man's space, before rolling to grab a couple of tissues to clean up.

"What, you think I can't do it?" he assumes, letting the tissue burn to little more than cinders when he's done, before flopping back into the blankets and offering Asta a dark and indulgent little grin. "When you wake up from your nap, I fully expect you to tell me I was right," he says, leaning up to snatch a soft, chaste kiss from the other man's lips, before one hand plunges through his dark hair.

Avoiding the sharp tines of Asta's horns, the pads of his fingers press and rub indulgently against the butcher's scalp, trickling occasionally towards the back of his neck before racing back into his hair. His other hand comes to join the first a moment later to cradle his cheek, one thumb carefully massaging his temple while his fingers find tension in his jaw to smooth away. "And how intrigued are you now?"

Dantalion

I'll break it to you easy, this is hell

// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //

He knows that’s a lie – he knows Danta thinks quite often, actually, but it wholly depends on what the Maverick decides to stick at that particular time. There are things Danta thinks about and remembers far better than the butcher does, and as a man proud to retain too much information and offer random not so fun facts far too often, he’s quite charmed by them. For now, though, it’s quizzical and playful as he meets his lover’s gaze, soaking in the sharp glint of blue that he’s greeted with as he leans into his space.

Asta doesn’t move, staying precisely where he is as Danta cleans up and ignites the tissues with nothing more than a brief wind of ash that makes it vanish completely, all while Asta’s preparing to see what the other Ancient has to offer. “You expect it, do you?” He asks, lips quirking into a smirk that almost eggs him on. It’s a dare that’s swiped away with the press of his lover’s lips, distracted tenfold with the sensation that spills against his scalp and back, and he’s entirely helpless to prevent the huff of air that exhales out of him slightly sharp with the surprise of it.

Dark eyes close, head tilting into the touch slightly stubbornly, he’s held in place with the other hand that cradles his face and rubs at his temples, and Asta melts into it much against his better judgement. “You’re terrible.” He accuses in that rough, Whitebrim voice, though the smile that tugs on his face proves Danta’s everything but that. “I need more of an example, if you will indulge me.” Dropping his glamour, the horns melt away from caging Danta’s fingers and his wagging tail vanishes to nothingness, his dark hair falling around his face and tangling against Danta’s fingers and along the expanse of his back between his shoulder blades and across his shoulder, likely soon in need of a trim.

Astaroth

// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //

you're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself

"Mmhm," Danta hums in response. He does expect it, and as the other man's brattish playfulness melts into stubborn indulgence, the wicked grin that curls across his lips is entirely self-satisfied. "I am terrible," he agrees softly, shifting just enough to let Asta slump down further against him, a feat made all the more easy with the way his glamour drops away. "Oh?" he continues. "You know, I thought you might. And what kind of a point would I be making if I weren't thorough?"

Running his fingers slowly and fully through the butcher's hair, Danta takes his sweet time in his affections, carefully sweeping the dark silk of it off his shoulder blades and to one side. His free hand relaxes against Asta's jaw, thumb brushing across his cheek before migrating to the back of his neck. "How are you feeling? Relaxed?" he wonders with a smirk, both hands pressing against the firm lines of muscle along the butcher's shoulders with the intention of kneading them into submission.

Dantalion

I'll break it to you easy, this is hell

// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //

So long as they’re in agreement with the playful complaint, the butcher is happy to draw quiet and melt into his fiancé while his glamour slips away. “Precisely, darling.” Still with the thrum of that thicker Whitebrim accent, the butcher caves shortly after Danta starts working the magic in his fingers. His shoulders relax, tension in his neck melting away with each focused touch, and before he knows it, he’s sunk down onto Danta surprisingly easily – drawn into a submission that only the Maverick has the know-how and boldness to do.

Probably because if anyone else tried, they’d lose a finger (or two, or a whole hand). “No.” He lies so easily, having sunk and caved in to where Danta’s shoulder is precisely the space his head has sunk down to, cushioned by the stubble of his beard. “Not at all.” He continues, despite how Danta would very well be able to tell with the putty Asta’s become. He’s more like a blanket now, his body warm and soaking up the other Ancient’s heat even as a cooler breeze slips through their tent and brushes against the space of his neck and shoulder that are open from where his hair has been captured to the other side.

It’s only a few more long moments of indulging and focusing on the pathways of the fingertips that drum a beautifully relaxing motion against his spine and the back of his neck, before Danta successfully tames the beast with a stubborn little slump to prove he’s fallen asleep.

Astaroth

// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //

you're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself

"No?" Danta echoes, quietly scandalised, but as Asta sinks slowly down atop him, he knows better than to challenge the other man too much lest he end up waking himself back up. Instead, quietly laughing to himself as he feels more than he sees the butcher succumb to the clever work of his fingers, the Maverick lets out a soft sigh. "My mistake," he laments, threading careful fingers back through Asta's hair. "I guess you really are impossible to unwind."

And with that, feeling very, very smug, Danta lets his lover sleep.

By the time Asta stirs, whenever that might happen to be, the rain has stopped and the sun has dipped low in the sky; it's the sort of weather that might have brought a nasty chill in the air with it, but Danta has already stoked braziers and lit lanterns and insulated their tent from such things. So Asta will be greeted by the colourful interior of the tent set aglow by an abundance of flames, his hair braided out of his face and his head supported by a plush fur.

As for Danta? Well, he's been waiting for the other man to awaken for some time now. Having reversed their positions somewhat, Asta will find the Maverick comfortably astride him, draped in a blanket and fiddling with the clasp of a small box in his hands to pass the time.

Dantalion

I'll break it to you easy, this is hell

// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //

He succumbs so quickly he hardly even knows it’s happened. And with the weight of the season already starting to bear down on him, the butcher sleeps heavily as if subconsciously knowing that where they were in the desert and with not a single soul around that he can sleep this deeply. It works out, though, because he doesn’t move aside from the twitch of his hands for the loss of heat from Danta’s departure to set up their tent further, nestled into the furs and by all means comfortable in his sleep.

As he starts to wake, though, his eyes have yet to open when he starts to stretch. He doesn’t quite register the weight of Danta on him as he indulges in the full body stretch, back arching with a satisfied little huff of breath, drawn back down for his hands to brush against Danta’s legs that have his eyes opening slowly at first.

The tip of the braid rests in the hollow of his throat, and he peers up through a heavy lidded view to spy his fiancé looking absolutely magical in the thrum of firelight from the sconces and braziers. It wakes him up, his dark gaze tracing the sharp lines of his face and the rainbow hue of his horns, trailing down along the much less red bite mark left behind from their earlier rendezvous, to the box cradled in his hands, then back up to try and catch those stunning blues of his eyes.

He wants to say that Danta was right when it came to relaxing him, but what comes out instead is a quiet, sleep drenched “you are so beautiful” before he tries to wake himself up a bit more, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips as his gaze drops back down to his lover’s hands.

Astaroth

// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //

you're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself

Huffing out a soft laugh to feel his perch suddenly start to move and stretch, Danta rests a gentle palm against Asta's chest to brace himself, shifting just enough to give him room to arch and then relax. His gaze flicks away from the box in his free hand, able to catch the honey dark sweetness of his lover's gaze, still sleep addled and (if he does say so himself) utterly content in the spill of furs and blankets.

His lips part to form a good evening only for Asta to beat him to it, and the surprise of the compliment - soft and sincere in a way only his lover can manage - has colour immediately rising to Danta's cheeks. Resisting the urge to swat at the butcher for his sincerity, the Maverick instead softly clears his throat and returns both hands to the box he's cradling. "You flatter me," he purrs. "Shamelessly so."

Danta smiles nevertheless, though, turning the box and flicking open the clasp. "Hey," he says quietly. "Wanna marry me?"

It's only fair that he asks, since Asta had done, and as Danta eases open the box it's to reveal the gleam of white gold. The band of the ring arcs elegantly down into a V at the centre, then branches back up into a pair of stag's antlers. Between them sits a shard of diamond, rainbow-hued and imperfect, and if anyone would be able to recognise a chip from one one of the Maverick's own horns, he thinks it'll be Asta.

Dantalion

I'll break it to you easy, this is hell

// there's a reason that they hate me, a reason that they need me //

His lips twitch into more of a smile as Danta takes his compliment without swatting at him (as he kind of expects these days), but it seems his hands are occupied with the box between both of them. It’s unassuming from the outside, something that he anticipates Danta to say it has something within it that kept him occupied while the butcher had unfortunately fallen asleep. It’s why he hasn’t risen to his elbows yet to get closer.

But then he speaks, opening the box and the sleep seeps from the butcher’s gaze as they widen, the smile still on the corners of his lips. He wants to say a million things in response, but he hasn’t fully woken up enough to acknowledge them in any form that will make sense. And for that, the butcher takes the moment to rise up, his hand reaching to help cradle the box as his other hand aims to tug Danta down to press his forehead to his briefly. “Of course I do, darling.” The butcher whispers against Danta’s lips, a surprisingly gentle and chaste kiss escaping him before he parts enough to look down at the ring in the box.

It’s stunning, from the white gold that glints even in the low light and the diamond that sparkles from it – rough, and just rough enough that Asta’s brows pinch and he immediately diverts his attention to the spike edged horns nestled in his fiance’s blonde strands. “Danta…” He says with a gentle and warm laugh, the hand at his neck lifting to brush away some of the blond and drag his fingers along the edges of the one horn that looks slightly off now that he’s paying attention to it. He reaches the pit of it, feeling the missing piece and he thinks that he’ll suddenly combust with all of the emotions that spring to the surface.

It flushes him, darkening his cheeks and his ears, trailing deeply down into a patchiness of his neck and chest. And for once, well, Danta will find the butcher entirely speechless, unable to come up with anything that could even surmount to the feelings swelling inside him right now. Instead, he drops his focus to the ring, plucking it from the cushion its sat on to slip it onto his finger and cradle it close for a more thorough inspection, words still sluggishly coming to him.

Astaroth

// there's a reason to enslave me and a reason to defeat me //

you're never gonna get it, I'm a hazard to myself

Danta goes willingly, unable to wipe the smile off his face as Asta draws him in, eyes slipping shut for a moment as their foreheads touch. "I was hoping you'd say so. It'd be a little weird if I was just marrying you," he says, shifting back enough to let the butcher get a proper look at the ring. "I was originally going to put it in an origami flower," he explains - over-explains, if he's honest, as if to give himself something to do while Asta appraises it, "but it wouldn't sit right."

Then the other man's brows flinch together and the Maverick is already glancing bashfully away as he feels that dark gaze move from his face to the glimmering diamond crowning his head. Still, Danta doesn't stop him, leaning into his hand so Asta can feel the small chip in his right horn. Barely there, but enough to notice if you know what you're looking for. "What's a little piece of me missing if it means you can carry it around with you?" he says with a small shrug, discarding the box as the butcher slips the ring on his finger.

Leaning in to kiss Asta's forehead, Danta lets the silence sit comfortably between them after that; he remembers well the way time had slowed into treacle in their room at Wildering House. Eventually, though, he does manage a smirk. "...I hope that means you like it?"

Dantalion

I'll break it to you easy, this is hell