drink 'til you choke

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

Should he have mentioned something to Danta before slipping out in the middle of the night? Perhaps. Should he have left a note? Perhaps. But as Asta weaves his way back through the bonfire with essentially a new entire life before him, the Butcher finds that whatever rage he might incur for vanishing in the middle of the night may be swept away with the very news he harbors both on his shoulders and within him.

It’s cold, the brisk morning filtering in with a new dusting of snowfall, and as the Butcher attempts to try and figure out just what all has changed within him, the attempt to keep warm is met with the very same fire that had always lingered in his soul as an Ancient but touched just a fraction differently. Bewildered as it curls in his hand in a lime green flame, vibrant and hot and stunning him momentarily as Sicarius squeaks a little grating, grinding sound of her own amusement over his surprise. “I know.” The Butcher hums to her, dispelling the flame the second they reach the doors of the Dusklight.

He has zero idea of how he looks right now, after having spent however long drinking from Dygra and the bone dragon draped across his shoulders, but he doesn’t have eyes for anyone within the confines of the Dusklight apart from his fiancé whom he still hopes is lounging in bed. He rushes to the door, slipping into it and setting Sicarius down out of view with a quiet little murmur to stay put for the moment, because this was news that Asta needed to go in a very specific order so as to not overwhelm the Maverick.

Though something tells him he will anyway, regardless of which order he explains it in.

But he slips into the den quickly, settles on the edge of the bed to lean over his lover, tail sweeping behind him in a slight wag as he starts to pull away the blankets that he’s sure Danta spread around and all over himself in search of his body in his sleep, to try and bring some awareness to the other man. “Danta, mi amor, wake up. I have to tell you something.” He hums softly, beckoning, smelling abruptly like the Climb and embers and wine-dark blood.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

Asta is lucky; his departure in the middle of the night had been in the midst of a very deep sleep for the Maverick, and so even though his absence had been noticed, it hadn't taken long for Danta to sprawl into place where the now-capital-B Butcher could usually be found. It's still screamingly early and freezing cold to boot, and so both the Dusklight and its proprietor are, for the most part, completely tucked away. Even for those who are awake, they don't have time to give Asta much more than a curious look before he's gone, whisking himself away to his rooms.

For his part, Danta utters a grumble of something both affectionate and threatening as his lover tries to dig through the blankets and furs to get to him. "You have to tell me that we get another hour in bed," he protests, warm hands sneaking out to try and clutch at whatever part of Asta he can get his hands on, keen to drag him into the cocoon of warmth in order to silence him for a few more minutes.

And sue him, it usually works, so you can't blame a guy for trying.

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

Half expecting Danta to wake up with the urgency that lines his voice, he really can’t deny the fact that when the Maverick was sleeping as deeply as he occasionally got to, he would have to work harder to try and get him to focus. He can’t really blame him though, given what he’d stupidly done in front of Dygra herself, but here he is trying to drag the sleep from his lover like a reverse sandman.

The response sparks a low chuckle of a laugh, letting Danta find him to pull him in, though the Maverick might realize Asta is still fully dressed and his coat still lingers with the hint of cold. “Another hour in bed once I am finished telling you something else.” He’d essentially bartered with Dygra, why not keep up the appearance?

He’s only half leaning over the Maverick in the bed, tail still wagging, the urgency of which he’s trying to get across still just as vibrant. “It has to do with our Dark Lady.” He tacks on like an additional incentive, peering down at his fiance with warmth and excitement thrumming in the dark honey of his gaze, face a general mess with the lingering remnants of where he’d drank from their goddess and the brand that leaves a bare patch in his beard on his cheek he doesn’t know is there just yet.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

Danta's groan is dramatic and petulant, as Asta might have expected it to be, and he sighs out his reluctant acceptance when he only half manages to drag the other man back into bed. Peeling his eyes open, he peeks up at the other man and finally seems to notice the cold that rolls from him, the way he's fully dressed instead of in their more appropriate sleeping attire (aka nothing), the smell of snow and ash and blood that clings to his body.

Blinking quickly as if to wake himself up, Danta gets his elbows beneath him to start sitting up in bed, scrubbing a hand across his face. "To do with Dygra?" he echoes. There's concern in his voice but it's held at bay by the mention of their dark goddess, because where Dygra is concerned there is never anything he feels he ought to fear. Paired with Asta seeming surprisingly pleased with himself - the tail wagging gives it away, sorry - and the strange, silvery kiss on his cheek that appears scarred there, and Danta has all the incentive in the world to wake up properly.

"What happened?" he asks, sitting up further and reaching out to cup Asta's cheek, thumb brushing across the branded kiss as if to check it's real.

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

If anything, Asta knows Danta well enough to know that any kind of terrible appearance that would spark worry could be held at bay by mentioning their goddess, but he knows it still doesn’t stop the immediate reaction he gets as Danta starts to wake up even with the dramatic groan. It’s the scrub at his face before really taking him in, the concern lingering there in question regarding their dark lady. “Yes.” The Butcher hums, relaxing now that he doesn’t have to try so hard to wake his lover.

His head tilts into the hand that cups it, the branded kiss to his cheek still a touch sensitive much to his surprise – the only indicator aside from Danta going straight for it that there’s something that lingers there physically as opposed to temporary like he may have thought originally. “She summoned me to the Climb.” He starts off, his grin spreading as he reflects on it. “I saw her.” Just as Danta had that one day in the Climb, how it had been life changing in so many ways that Asta couldn’t quite relate to until this very moment. And gods if he doesn’t understand the sensation Danta had gone through when he’d come back to tell him about it.

“And she made me hers. More than I was. Her demigod.” Not the only one, given Knell, but the young Ancient was still quite young and if the sleep that had riddled him in the midst of talking to his deity had anything to say about it, things were becoming stranger as the days move on. “And that is not all that has happened.” But he hesitates, because the Butcher realizes it’s a lot for Danta to wrap his mind around and he wanted to get the biggest change out of the gate as soon as possible, unable to keep it so close to his chest lest his ego and arrogance over it suffocate him.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

She summoned me to The Climb is enough to make sense of the Butcher's attire at least, Danta nodding quietly to hear Asta out, thumb brushing across the scruff on his cheek now that he realises the mark on his face isn't the sort of wound that requires wine to heal. But to hear that the other man had seen their goddess has an immediate and delighted smile spreading across his face. "You did?" he repeats, voice almost a whisper. "Isn't she incredible?" He could speak at length - and has done - about being in their goddess's physical presence, but it seems the Butcher isn't finished.

And as he drops the real news, the demigod news, Danta is already shoving the blankets aside to scramble to his knees, disbelief and awe fighting for dominance on his face. Cupping Asta's cheeks in both hands like he might see the divinity running through his veins, it's an incredibly rare thing that finds the Maverick speechless, but this has managed it.

Not for long, granted, but enough that only the excited swish of his tail can give him away at first.

"Of course she did," he breathes at last. "How could she not? Asta, that's... you did it. You're everything every Ancient dreams of being."

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

“Yes, she most certainly is.” And perhaps later they can speak at length about witnessing their goddess in the flesh, but for now he forges on, because while that is astounding news of its own, he feels like the next statement to leave his lips will have Danta far more interested in talking about that.

And truth be told, he’s correct. He shifts slightly on the bed as Danta gets to his knees and cups his cheeks, the silence heavy with excitement and anticipation – seeing the swish of his lover’s tail akin to the wagging of his own, and as his lover scans his face for all the differences that might linger within him and his soul, he finds that he peers back, open and bare for Danta’s inspection. And the answer pools against the sticky sweet ego boost that has filled his veins since leaving the Climb reborn, grinning back at his fiancé as he fills the void of his chest with even more pride and self-esteem.

His head tilts slightly, nuzzling into the hands that cup his cheeks, soaking in the attention Danta gives him like it’s all he’d ever wanted. “I know.” He murmurs, easily coming to terms with it despite having not been born Ancient as most of the others he knows were, taking it as a sense that he’d worked so hard at proving his loyalty and worshipping her. “I feel… Like I did when you woke me.” Weak in a way he can’t quite describe. “But simultaneously reborn? Most of my abilities are gone and the ones that remained have been altered.” He assumes the bloodbane he can feel in his veins still has changed just as much as his fire has, the scorch now being Wild Fire and a tantalizing green hue that he has yet to show his fiancé.

But he shifts a little to kick his shoes off, to sit up a little straighter and tug Danta into his lap. “And she gave me a parting gift as well. I have named her Sicarius.” He hums, keeping his focus entirely on Danta as the clicking of claws starts to scrape across their floor, the young dragon beckoned in to clamor up onto the bed in all of her unique capabilities of looking like a resurrected bone beast, cooing a soft sound toward Danta and a bump of her bony nose against his arm.

Because for as new as this companion relationship is, Asta’s love for the Maverick runs deep, deep enough that the dragon is already infatuated with the blonde Ancient.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

Danta goes more than willingly into the Butcher's lap, settling there like it's where he belongs, his fingers slowly threading through the other man's dark hair as if he might be able to spot every tiny change within and without. "I'm so proud of you," he whispers, the words stripped of any bravado or playfulness, just in case Asta gets the wrong impression about his opinion on all of this.

"I've heard that happens," he continues, of the temporary weakness, of the strange reset and alteration of abilities. "Don't worry. You pulled yourself up by the bootstraps last time, and this time we won't pretend to hate each other for seasons, so I can help get you back how you're supposed to be."

He's about to ask for a demonstration of said abilities when Asta mentions his parting gift from Dygra, the Maverick smirking and letting a feather light finger brush across the silvery kiss on his cheek. "Yes, I can see that," he begins, but at the sound of strange, skittering claws approaching their den, it appears his lover has meant something much different.

"Sicari-- oh," Danta mumbles, bumped by a bony nose and thoroughly and immediately enamoured with the sight of the macabre little creature. "A companion?" he asks, almost under his breath. "Gods, Asta, you must be reeling from all these changes at once."

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

The weight of Danta in his lap soothes all the edges the Butcher feels as he reels from the abrupt changes. Not like he hadn’t asked for them, given he wholeheartedly wanted each and every ounce of what Dygra could give him. But it still felt strange to be scrubbed so new, to feel so weak and exhausted as he tugs Danta into his lap. But it’s a different kind of exhaustion, not the kind that came with Deepfrost after the Leafchange antics he’d gotten up to, but the kind that felt mental, like the load he’d been given just in the past night had been intense to handle.

But his lover has an answer for it and the Butcher is all ears, melting under the touch that streams through his hair. “I will not be alone, either, it seems.” He tacks on with a hint of mischief, because with Danta’s help and Flora’s newly minted demigod status as well, he’d have another partner in crime to be weak with while they grew. “I do not anticipate it lasting a long while.” He admits, because he knows deep down he needs to get stronger in order to take the tasks Dygra gave him in regards to the strange sleep inducing aura that seems to drape all over Caido.

But the other Ancient’s finger strokes across the brand and it’s probably the only time Asta realizes there’s a mark there to be inspected at a later date, all while Sicarius clamors up onto the bed for attention of her own. She settles there beside them, equally as delighted to see Danta as he is to see her, a little puff of dark smoke leaving her maw from the threat of blackfire that trails along her teeth.

Amused by the sight of it, Asta turns his attention back to the Maverick. “Yes. And I am. It will take a lot of getting used to.” Because Danta knows just how Asta is when it comes to control, and to share his soul with a companion and have his whole reliance on his magic and abilities gone and in need of learning something new, the Butcher will have to figure it out all over again.

One hand remains braced against Danta’s back as his other draws in front of him, though, cupping his fiance’s cheek briefly before withdrawing to let that vibrant green flame flicker against his fingertips, illuminating their faces in an eerie hue.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

"Oh, she is a firecracker," Danta purrs approvingly, shifting just enough to free one of his hands from Asta's hair to deliver all of the attention Sicarius quite rightly deserves. Long, ring bedecked fingers tap gently along the ridge of her bony nose before dancing down the ladder of her spine and her ribs, the Maverick visibly fascinated by the little dragon. "I can't wait for you to meet Moira," he continues. "But for now please excuse me, because I have to also keep giving this new demigod attention or he might die."

Winking at Sicarius before turning back to Asta, he's almost immediately caught by the way his hand cups his cheek. Danta is just able to sneak a kiss against the palm of his hand, in fact, before it's withdrawing and eerie green fire ignites between the Butcher's fingers, illuminating them in a ghoulish glow that is so perfectly Asta that the Maverick can't help but laugh softly.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he whispers suddenly, leaning in and through the flames to kiss the Butcher before he can help himself.

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

As if in response to Danta’s attention, the dragonling’s bony jaws clack in her own approval, puffing out a smidge more smoke when Danta starts to give her attention. It’s almost like she’s saying that from what she gathers, the Butcher required some kind of companion that could keep up with him, so she’s quite pleased to be here when it comes to being part of the new demigod’s soul. She laps up the attention to each and every vertebrae and ribs, before another huff of smoke slips past her lips and she hops off the bed to go and inspect the room now that she’s got free reign to do so.

Which leaves Asta fully committed to the Maverick with the laughter that finds its way past his throat. “That is correct.” He very well might die, should he not get the attention he thinks he deserves. Attention he captures with the ghoulish green of the fire that comes to life between his fingers, warm and inviting and perfectly eerie.

The kiss is much needed and very much wanted, though, and he extinguishes the fire once Danta’s surged through it to snatch the kiss, blotting out any retort the Butcher might have. His hands slip around him again, keeping him tucked against him close. One hand rising up to drag his fingers gently along the nape of his fiance’s neck while the other presses into the hollow of his hip. “No, you are, darling.” The Butcher retorts, smirking in spite of himself, wondering if his kiss tastes like the honey-wine, ashen Dygra still.

He doesn’t wait to find out, though, not as he surges back in for another kiss – this one greedier and more needy in part, bolstered from the visit with Dygra, shifting them to sink back into the bed so he might be able to strip himself of all of his clothes he’d had to bundle on to make the trip to the Climb.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

Danta can't say whether he tastes Dygra in Asta's kiss; even if he could, he's too wrapped up in his lover to be able to comment on it, moaning softly into his mouth as clever fingers trickle down the back of his neck. "I said it first," he argues, the corner of his lips hooking up in a smile just as the other man surges forward again. Danta goes willingly, of course, sinking back into the sheets and stretching out languidly to enjoy the show as the Butcher starts to peel off all of his clothes.

"I assumed you would be exhausted after all of this," he purrs, raising his eyebrows up at the other man. "Not that I'm not thrilled and privileged to be ravished by Dygra's newest chosen, but you don't need to push yourself on my account." He winks, and though his attitude is playful he's very much serious about the offer. Demigodhood, he imagines, takes a fuckton out of a person, and that's without taking into account Asta's usual Deepfrost doziness.

(Not that he knows if that shift still exists to cause problems, of course).

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me

Astaroth

// so sip the gossip, drink 'til you choke. sip the gossip, burn down your throat //

The argued answer has the Butcher huffing a soft laugh into the kiss, busying himself with rearranging them just so where he can remove layer after layer, uncaring in this precise moment over where the clothes land. They need to be cleaned anyway, between the snow and the ash, the blood and the dust. And it’s likely a decent show for the Maverick as each layer comes undone, amusement sparking across his face as he smirks down at his lover. “I won’t push myself, darling.” He confirms with a low thrum of his voice, shirt snagging on the tines of his antlers briefly before he’s tugging it off the rest of the way and curling over his fiancé.

“Consider it my birthday gift.” He teases, claiming another chaste kiss before he descends down to Danta’s chin and the hollow of his throat, dropping down to his collarbones and the center of his chest. “I am tired, yes, but invigorated. So indulge me, ¿sí?” He purrs, holding himself back up in that hovering pose with one arm while the other moves to his belt, working it off as best he can given the obvious heat and arousal lingering in his body, reignited now that he’s gotten everything off of his chest and a taste of his lover.

// you're not iconic, you are just like them all. don't act like you don't know //

when I was a child I heard voices, some would sing and some would scream

"Good," Danta replies through a sly smile, his eyes tracking every movement and shift of fabric, every peek of olive skin on show before Asta succeeds in tugging off his shirt. "I wouldn't want you to be too tired for our goddess right after she's chosen you to be her butcher." The thought thrills him all over again, and a mixture of pride and adoration shines in his expression as he welcomes Asta back against his lips.

"And it's bold of you to think that this is the only birthday gift you're getting from me," he mumbles with a chuckle, head tipping back to enjoy the hot brush of lips against the hollow of his throat, and as the Butcher braces over him to try and fumble with his belt, it's the least Danta can do to assist. Sneaking another kiss as his hands help to unbuckle and draw the strip of leather away, he can't resist the urge to press his palm against Asta's growing arousal through the fabric of his pants, nipping gently at his lower lip and squeezing the hard length of him.

Any wit or sly remarks die on his tongue at that point; surging forward to deepen the kiss again, the Maverick has to force himself to actually unfasten buttons instead of merely ripping them away, but that doesn't make him any less impatient for the Butcher's body.

The Maverick

you soon find you have few choices, I learned the voices died with me