all the blood and the dust

// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //

As he bullies his way in, the fight Danta puts up feels far more performative than it does anything else – lacking the true fight and heart of it until he settles and the butcher can finally settle more comfortably into the embrace. His fingers play with his hair, pausing only to lift himself up while Danta tugs up the sheer shirt, his olive, sun-tanned skin warm despite the thin fabric as he presses his torso back down against the Maverick. “That sounds lovely.” He agrees.

As Danta’s gaze pops open though, he’s momentarily struck by the way the light filters all the colors from above into the blue of his eyes, pressing back into the soft kiss ever so slightly before letting him speak. It brings a slow spreading smirk across his face, an even sharper canine on display as his fingers tighten in the golden strands of hair he’d been running them through previously. “Mm, well, allow me to distract you.” He purrs, curving himself just right to plant a much needier kiss against his lover’s lips, content to keep him in his embrace for as long as Danta will let him.

Astaroth

// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Casting Asta's shirt aside and not bothering to look where it lands (it could be in the fire for all he cares), Danta wastes no time in running his fingers down the butcher's back as if to coax him closer against his own body. Humming a note of indulgent approval to feel clever fingers start to tighten in his hair, his own smile kicks up into something crooked and almost teasing, and he raises his eyebrows up at Asta. "You say it like I'm difficult to distract--"

Cut off entirely by the kiss planted against his mouth - and thus proving the butcher's point - Danta melts into the dark affection of it, hips lifting to grind against his lover's, tongue flicking out to catch on a sharp tooth and flood them with the scent of iron. "Maybe I can distract you at the same time," he suggests, the words mumbled into Asta's mouth.

Dantalion

// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //

Asta, too, doesn’t look for where the shirt lands. If anything, he focuses all of his attention on the tightening of his fingers, the slip of gold through each olive finger, the scent of sage and citrus that aren’t as vibrant as they typically are back in the Dusklight but still have buried its way into the Ancient beneath him. And as he cuts his lover off with the kiss, amusement flickers in the kiss momentarily, a huff of a laugh that’s pressed there that’s equally cut off the second he tastes the pinprick of Danta’s tongue beading up with a smidge of blood.

Not unlike a shark in similar ways, the butcher’s low thrum of appreciation vibrates out of him almost unwillingly. “You always do.” He purrs, breaking the kiss but not before he presses a chaste and punctuated one against the soft plush of his slightly redder lips. With a cheshire lilt to his smirk and the press of his hips even sharper with his arousal, the butcher rises enough to fumble Danta’s shirt off, too, essentially manhandling him in a way to get it so he can drape himself over the Maverick skin to skin, burning with warmth.

Astaroth

// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Never one to complain about a little manhandling, if Danta unintentionally makes things more difficult for Asta by trying to kiss and grope for him while he tugs at his shirt, so be it. A quiet laugh does rumble up in his throat as he realises he's being a pain, the Maverick stilling enough so that his lover doesn't feel the need to burn the fabric to cinders, before he's melting back against the heat of his skin and trying to better fit himself into the touch of his hands.

"I want you," he mumbles into his mouth, keeping one arm curled across his back and shoulders while the other slips between them, eager to fumble away any lingering fabric getting in the way. And it surprises Danta every time, how feverishly he means it every time he says it, Asta like a craving he can't get enough of no matter how many times he indulges.

"Go slow with me," he whispers, his tone almost pleading. "I want to enjoy every bit of this."

Dantalion

// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //

It’s a good thing Danta stops when he does – because he very much considers burning away the cloth and risks setting their nest on fire with the process of it – hands heating up enough that the tips of his fingers gleam with sparks of flame before he diminishes it the second Danta’s relaxing and letting him work off his shirt. And despite the frustration of it, he does snort softly because each and every time he should know better – that it isn’t ever going to be simple with these attempts.

The I want you is met with the low thrum of Asta’s response, poured like honey into Danta’s mouth, goosebumps rising along his skin where the scars aren’t. “I want you more.” Comes the playful and softer taunt, edged with something almost surprising with how Danta’s pleading question reaches his ears and he does slow down on his initial speed of things.

He can be indulgent, Leafchange or not, and there’s almost a feverishly softer side of Asta’s raging hormones as he descends and presses indulgent iron tinged kisses along his lover’s lips and the corner of his mouth, trailing it along the sharp edge of his cheek bone before he reaches that glitteringly jeweled ear. “It’s a good thing you asked me now.” He teases again, his tail unwinding from his lover’s leg just enough that he can shift enough for Danta to work between them to get the rest of their clothes open. Between the two of them, it’s easy adjustments before he’s rising up on his knees, hands smoothing down the sides of his lover’s legs and up to his hips before he’s tugging him up against him in a way that Danta might be able to wrap his legs around him, his tail snaking out to try and coil with the other Ancient's.

Astaroth

// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"I thought I'd better," Danta says with a laugh that tapers into a soft gasp of pleasure as the other man's lips trail kisses from his mouth towards the shell of his ear. He isn't convinced slow is something Asta can really commit to this season, but even trying will be enough; enough for the Maverick to brand the desert sun and the vibrant canvas overhead into his memory.

He doesn't bother to argue against the butcher's rebuttal - no matter how much Danta might crave him, he's got no doubt that in this moment Asta probably does want this more, and he's easily manoeuvred after managing to free them from the suddenly tight confines of their pants. Letting his hands slip away to fist into the plush fur above his head, he hooks his legs obediently around Asta's hips, eyes raking up the length of his scarred body with molten hunger swimming in his gaze.

"Fuck, you look good," he purrs.

Dantalion

// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //

It will take work for the butcher, but he’s more than happy to try — content to challenge himself if only because there’s no one around for miles and zero threats to be on the lookout for. It leaves him with every ounce of his attention focused on the Maverick with the intention to indulge. So he rids them of the rest of their clothes, drags Danta up against him.

His hands slip up into the furs and Asta’s eyes are dark and glittering with desire as he takes in the view he has, too, both of their lips a shade redder than they typically are. “It’s the scars isn’t it?” He asks with amusement, lips twitching into a smirk as he drags a hand from Danta’s chest, down his stomach in a slow and exploratory drag, lower and lower until his fingers can stroke along the hard length of his fiance’s.

Readjusting his legs slightly and jostling Danta as minimally as he can, he guides himself slow and easily into his lover, loosening the indulgent and low toned moan from his lips, tension building in his shoulders and chest as he presses in and over his lover as far as he can go.

Astaroth

// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

"No," Danta replies easily, the catlike smile on his face flickering only a little as the butcher's hand drags luxuriously down the length of his body before finally reaching its destination. "It's the man behind them." He hopes Asta isn't expecting him to wax lyrical about how little his scars matter though, not when his fingers are squeezing and stroking along the hard length of his cock.

Shivering in a breath and forcing himself to relax despite how he wants to lift his hips into the sensation, the Maverick's eyes slip shut as if to fully focus on the way Asta adjusts his legs, the way there's suddenly no distance left between them. Groaning something that sounds like the butcher's name, it's only as his head tips back that he thinks to draw up his glamour, horns and tail disappearing so he might leave their makeshift den unscathed.

"Always so tense," he purrs as the other man finally shifts over him, eyes hazed with desire, one hand leaving the furs to clasp the back of Asta's neck, stroking along the cords of muscle running down to his shoulders. "You can relax - I'm not going anywhere. I'm all yours."

Dantalion

// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //

It’s poetic in the way Danta tends to be, short and succinct enough that the butcher can fill in the gaps and spaces with everything else he can imagine it to be. In short, it’s perfect enough that he hums a sound of approval while he busies himself with pressing into the Maverick and stroking his cock in the process, greedy enough to not keep him wanting but also not quite enough to make this end before it’s really begun.

As he curves over his lover and feels the indulgent press of warm fingers against his spine and scars, the groan that makes up his name, Asta breaks some of the distance between them to press a kiss to his collarbone. “Oh I know you are, darling.” He purrs playfully before he takes a long and slow inhale of breath as he props himself up, his free hand fisted in the furs just above Danta’s head, allowing him to rock his hips in a steady yet somehow deeper series of thrusts that only make him tense further with the thought it takes to rein himself in. “We want to enjoy this, no?” He asks with a breathy question, one that has his hand finally taking Danta’s length to stroke a compliant pace rather than the softer lilt of his fingers.

Astaroth

// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Huffing out a breath that's almost a laugh, Danta hitches his legs a little higher around Asta's waist as he all but pins him into the furs, the movement enough to drag an encouraging moan from his throat. The rock of the butcher's hips is deep and slow and indulgent in a way that will utterly ruin Danta in less time than he'd like to admit, but for now he's happily trapped beneath his lover, curling both arms around him as if he might fall off the world entirely otherwise.

"I'm already enjoying this," he assures him, breathless with the anticipation of more, and whilst he can't perform any of his preferred acrobatics like this, he moves with Asta enough that the other man will know he's a very active participant in their dalliance. "Fuck me harder," he whispers, voice rough enough to make the request inch towards begging, fingers clutching at the butcher enough to leave small crescent moons in his shoulders.

Dantalion

// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //

He’s precisely where he wants to be, buried deep and relieving the itch that’s been burrowing under his skin each and every day that they’d been gone. But in the comfort of their den and the satisfaction of being alone aside from the blonde Ancient, Asta is able to let go a bit of the tension. But it’s the lingering tension of trying to ensure he doesn’t just say fuck it and upend Danta’s kind request.

“Good.” He hums, the word melting into a moan of his own, feeling the way Danta moves beneath him and with him. It’s enough to drive him a bit crazier, having to focus on not losing himself in the feel of him. His head lowers a fraction, dark hair falling forward to where the long edges of them brush across Danta’s chest. “Gods I thought you’d never ask.” He smirks despite whether Danta can see it or not, readjusting just enough to help bolster his lover’s position. The flat tip of his tail presses up against the small of Danta’s back as his hips and hand indulge his lover with a harder snap and tighter stroke, finally relieving some of the tension in his shoulders.

Astaroth

// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

He can practically feel it, the way that tightrope Asta is walking grows more taut and threatens to snap at any moment, and as the butcher readjusts them Danta goes willingly, fingers slipping up and into the back of his dark hair. That first hard thrust has a rough curse spilling from his lips, though there's no doubt that he's enjoying himself, cock twitching hard in Asta's tight grip. "Fuck," he hisses, already feeling himself start to threaten to unravel.

Tilting the butcher's chin up and against his waiting lips, Danta moans encouragement into his mouth even as his lungs scream for breath and ecstasy starts to build and crackle against the base of his spine, threatening to consume him completely. "Asta--" The other man's name leaves his lips like something sacred and unholy, a warning that he can't quite articulate. "Asta, fuck, I'm gonna--"

His body surges up and against the butcher as he cums, every cresting wave of pleasure enough to steal his senses and rob the silver from his tongue. Slow is never slow enough, as it happens, and their extended time away from this has made him unapologetically eager. Regardless, though, Danta is nothing if not vocal in his praise, whether or not he's capable of words.

Dantalion

// no one wants a half remembered tragedy. You must know the width of the knife //

It’s a delicate balance that Asta walks, one that that’s made marginally harder with the lush press of his fingers through his hair. The focus of his body is entirely on the Maverick and each tell his body and voice give him, and with the curse and the moan the butcher’s lips quirk into a small and distracted smirk. It’s hidden up until Danta’s tilting his bearded chin up, surging forward with the next snap of his hips into the kiss that feels like second nature, like a breath deeply inhaled and needed far longer than you would think.

The way his name falls from his lips sounds more like a prayer than it does a warning — as though Asta cares much about the warning. Slow and indulgent and wanting to really enjoy this has the butcher humming his notes of praises alongside each movement of his hand and his hips, letting each one draw that tether tighter and tighter within him until it’ll eventually snap.

Before that, though, Danta’s surging up against him and Asta drops a touch down to press the flat of his hand up between his shoulder blades, more praise of his own accompanying the bliss Danta’s likely feeling while the tether narrows to something nearly nonexistent in the butcher’s chest. “Gods, Danta—” It’s a whole body tingle that greets him the second he bites the inside of his cheek and floods his mouth with blood, a growl exhaled from his nose as he surges in and presses bloodied kisses against the column of his lover’s neck as he cums, the briefest and barely there scrape of his teeth accompanying each kiss like he’s holding himself back well enough in spite of it before he’s angling up to claim Danta’s lips fully now, even if his lungs feel as though they’ll burn in the span of seconds.

Astaroth

// and how it ruined you. Name the organs it kissed //

you were automatic and as hollow as the 'O' in god

Asta might have been tearing out Danta's throat with his teeth for all the Maverick has the sense to care, his head tipped back, bloody lips parted in an expression that might be mistaken for pain if one didn't know better. And the butcher will absolutely know better, Danta managing to steal in a gasp of air just as the other man's mouth meets his own, copper flooding his tongue and that feral growl still echoing in his mind as he rides out Asta's climax.

The world has started to blot itself out at the edges by the time he forces himself away, lungs burning and fingers numb as he pants for breath, but gods if that vaguely untethered sensation doesn't make it all even better. Collapsing back against the furs, something within the Maverick wants to suddenly grab and mark and claim the butcher all over again, as if to warn whoever might be around (no one - there's no one) just who the other man is to him.

Instead, though, one arm hooks loosely around him, fingers splaying at the small of Asta's back to strum gentle fingers up the length of his spine, the other clasping his jaw as if to brand the sight of him into his memory. "You're fucking incredible," he whispers, smile edged with exhaustion and adoration in equal measure.

Dantalion