drink 'til you choke

Astaroth

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

Melting into a heap that really, really proves to the Butcher just how exhausting the whole ordeal of the day has been, sinking into the warm comfort of the Maverick. He peers up at him with his chin propped on his chest, snorting as his hand shifts just enough to let the other Ancient pepper his wrist with little kisses. “I am always happy to provide, darling.” The butcher purrs with a twitch of his tail, before it starts to wag behind him with less enthusiasm than his fyrhund shift often gave him.

As for training and seeing what was up his sleeve, he perks up with it in interest. “That would be lovely.” To get to test everything that Dygra had given him. “I have already noticed that my glamour is gone. And all my shifts apart from one.” He murmurs, shifting to offer Danta a slanted, apologetic smile. “So perhaps we will be back to purchasing the vast majority of pillows in the Grounds once again.” He sighs dramatically, just in time for Sicarius to return back from her wandering, dragging a blanket that had been stored away, made of fur but torn and burnt slightly. It’s large enough for her to spin it into a nest of sorts by the door, before she curls up into it with a smoky huff.

// 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

"Of that I have no doubt," Danta purrs, a smug smile curling across his lips. "Though I won't hold it against you if you need a little rest after all that." He's no fool - he knows how Deepfrost affects his lover, and if he really has been up since the early hours, this tumble in the sheets will likely have finished him off for the day. "Apart from one?" He raises his eyebrows at that, spotting the lazy wag of his tail in his periphery. "Not your fyrhund, I'm guessing?"

The lack of glamour is something they've spent plenty of time dealing with, luckily, the Maverick smirking and letting his fingers dance up and against Asta's horns. "We'll survive," he says, "though I can't say the same for our pillows. At least we're keeping someone in business." Or something like that.

Teasing a lock of dark hair away from the tines of fire obsidian, Danta barely catches the sight of Sicarius with her blanket nest, but as he spots her he can't help but scoff out a laugh. "It's strange, isn't it?" he murmurs to the other man, tapping a finger against his temple. "Having a companion."

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 smile that blooms across his face to hear that Danta knows him well enough to know he’d very likely be limp the rest of the day, he lets the smile answer the question of it for him. It gives him time to let the smile twitch a little softer as he shakes his head, confirming Danta’s suspicion. “Sadly, it is not.” Which is extremely weird feeling. Because given the whole entirety of his life as an Ancient, Asta had never gone a day without his fyrhund shift to rely on. “I suppose She thought the Feirw suited my soul better.”

He could muse all morning about the change in his shifts and simultaneously his identity, but he’s glad to know that it wouldn’t be the end of the world when it came to how many pillows they might go through, depending on how many he skewered with the sharp tines of his fire obsidian horns. It would be the end of the pillows, though. “That is true.” He admits softly.

Blinking slowly as he peers up at Danta and focuses on the feeling of the dark hair being swept out of his face, Asta hardly notices Sicarius until the blinding ping of comfort comes through his mind as she settles into the nest of furs and grumbles a little croaky sound of content – reverberated between man and companion, proven only by the tap against his temple. “Extremely.” He isn’t used to sharing his mind, but he supposes if there was something to share it with so intensely, a bone dragon is probably at the top of the list. “Can you feel Moira all the time? The.. Curiosity and the experiences as they happen?”

// 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

Humming out a soft sigh and winding a lock of hair around his finger, Danta considers the other man's point and ends his contemplation with a shrug. "Far be it for me to disagree with our dark lady, but I still think you're a fyrhund through and through," he assures the Butcher, leaning in to kiss his crown (and doing his best to avoid his horns). "Not that I'll complain about the shenanigans your feirw shift puts you through every Leafchange." That has certainly been one of the more chaotic additions to the butcher's character, which is probably why Dygra liked it so much in retrospect.

Smirking briefly at the grumble of contentment from both bone dragon and Butcher, Danta opts at last to draw up his own glamour, because the gods know they don't need to lock horns by accident in the middle of a nap. "Only if she's close," he says of Moira, having had plenty of time to get used to the strangeness of it by now. "She's... on the roof above our rooms right now, sliding down it in the snow. But if she flew further away I'd lose her."

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 //

Snorting with a hint of exhaustion, Asta sighs a little contently with the idea that she’d left that one in particular because it was the one that changed up the Butcher’s normalcy the most. “That could be.” He admits, humming a little note as he thinks about it. He isn’t one to question her, certainly not after having just seen her in the flesh and been struck by divinity in more ways than one.

His fingers plunge further into Danta’s hair with the loss of his diamond horns, allowing him to quietly massage the space where his horns typically sat as if the skin there might be sore from holding up such precious stone. “That’s good to know.” She hadn’t left him alone since she’d arrived, so he had no way of knowing when the connection might fade or drop off. Not that he’s going to complain having an extra set of eyes (or black, depthless pits) on him to make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble, Asta still needs to get used to it.

A low laugh leaves him as Danta explains what Moira’s up to, a smile stretching across his face while he imagines her rolling through the snow up top of the roof. “Well, I am glad she is enjoying it.” The snow, that is. “Do you think her and Sicarius will get along?” He asks, shifting how he’s laying to drape only halfway across Danta’s chest, bullying his way into keeping an arm wrapped around him while the other continues to run through his golden hair.

// 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

Grumbling something affectionate and vaguely violent at the delicious feel of Asta's fingers in his hair, Danta shifts and turns with it as if to ensure the other man reaches all the best spots. It's fortuitous that he ends up half draped across him in the end, then, the Maverick flashing a fangless grin towards his lover as he settles at last. "Mm, she's a lot braver than we are in the cold," he agrees. As if in response to the mention of it, licks of fire start to wind around them to clean them up a fraction, though they'll likely have to crawl into the hearth before long.

Glancing towards Sicarius rumbling and happy in the nest she's made, Danta doesn't bother to hide his wry smile, softer than the grin he'd turned towards Asta. "Like a house on fire," he says easily. "Moira is already obsessed with you. I bet she'll be just as enamoured with your companion." Perhaps more so, given the mischief the two of them could get into.

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 //

“Good. Someone has to be, wouldn’t you say?” The Butcher murmurs, distracted comfortably by the fangless grin, the way it makes his fiancé look so normal in comparison. He might have assumed he was, were it not for the content and quiet mischief that still graces his face. His fingers continue their slow little strokes as Danta sparks fire along them, cleaning up the evidence of their celebration for the most part.

Asta rests a little easier, though, leaning in to press his lips in soft kisses against the sharp jut of Danta’s shoulder. “Good.” The smile peeks up on his face, affection sinking into the brown of his eyes, like the fire of the day’s events have reached each and every inch of him inside, glowing internally. “I have not had her long, but she is infatuated with you too.” He hums, able to cast a glance down toward the bone dragon, where Sicarius has already succumbed to sleep with her belly in the air (or crevice of bones?) and one boney paw crossing along her chest, out like a light with soft snores and little dark puffs of smoke slipping through her nose.

// 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

"Mm, especially if she's delivering all my letters." Not that Danta sends all too many, but there are certainly enough origami creations to keep Moira busy at all seasons. Grinning openly to feel Asta's lips ghost across his shoulder, the Maverick inches somehow closer, enough to wind his arm around the other man's back. "Then I doubt we have anything to worry about between my crow and your skeleton dragon," he confirms, smirking and gazing down into dark and molten eyes.

"Don't you look at me like that," he purrs, the warning affectionate and playful. "You're far too tired to keep up with me this season, demigod or not." Laughing, he tangles himself up further with the Butcher until he can be the one to bury his head against his chest and shoulder; at least one of them can get away with it without skewering the other with horns.

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 //

A small warm laugh leaves the Butcher as he recalls the little origami shapes Danta would often give to Moira and send her out the window. The other Ancient’s origami skills have improved throughout the time since he’d taught him, at least, and it only adds to the Butcher’s affectionate gleam in his gaze. “Good. We have a full house now.” He snorts softly, peering up at his fiancé with those warm eyes.

The purred warning has the Butcher rolling his eyes playfully in return, dramatic and easy as he maneuvers himself just enough that they can fully tangle up with one another, with Danta nestling into his chest. His hand remains threaded into the golden strands, shifting them to settle more comfortably on the bed. “I was just looking at you, darling.” Comes the soft and dramatic protest.

“What would you say to having nothing on the agenda aside from a very long, well deserved nap for the rest of the day?” He muses, already knowing the answer was likely a resounding yes given the events of the night and morning, but he’s still polite enough to ask.

// 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

"Mm, if you decide to pick up any more companions we'll have to build an extension to these rooms," Danta says, though the amusement in his eyes says very much otherwise. Both he and the Butcher just happen to be hoarders of trinkets, jewellery, clothing and all manner of other creature comforts, and they could likely create more space just by packing away their Longheat wardrobes for a bit. (They won't, but they could).

"You were looking at me sexily," Danta accuses, voice muffled and terribly amused against the side of Asta's neck, his head tipping forward just enough to let the other man's fingers thread properly through his hair. "Mm, I could absolutely be persuaded," he says of the nap, though it's much more well-deserved for Asta than for himself.

"Maybe not for all of the rest of the day, though," he adds after a moment of thought, peeking up at Asta with a fiendish glimmer to his expression. "We need to show you off to the rest of the Dusklight. Let them know to be extra wary of you."

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 //

A bark of a laugh leaves him to hear the idea of having multiple companions when he’s still trying to wrap his mind around the fact he has to share his mind with one. And it’s with an amused glimpse of horror that Asta smirks back at his fiancé. “More?” He asks as if the mere thought was terrifying. “Let us just get used to the ones we have.” Otherwise, he might explode.

To hear that he’d been looking at him sexily, though, the Butcher admittedly isn’t sure what changed in his admiration aside from the warmth that he can feel tingling through his body. So he angles his head slightly, pressing his bearded cheek against Danta’s crown as his fingers drop to the nape of his neck and stroke gentle motions in it. “Ah, I see.” He doesn’t, but he’s content to lie to prove the point.

His tail tangles around the Maverick’s leg comfortably as he settles in and stifles the yawn that threatens to steal him away. “Oh?” He asks with a huff of a sound, but Danta would be able to feel the smile that stretches across the Butcher’s lips. “Alright, then, tonight we can spend time showing me off.” Not that the Butcher would complain, and from what he can see form the brief glimpse of his fiance’s fiendish glint to his eyes, he’s fairly certain that the Maverick is itching to brag, too.

// 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

"Mm, probably wise," Danta concedes. "It's easier for me, you see, because my head - and Moira's - is mostly empty. Plenty of space for other things." Grinning against the Butcher's throat, the expression fades soon fades into something quietly blissful as the other man's long fingers dance across the nape of his neck, and were it not for the lingering threads of their conversation, Danta might have already dropped back off to sleep.

"It's a date," he hisses at the prospect of spending the evening introducing the Dusklight to Dygra's newest demigod, and though he doesn't currently have his tail unglamoured to coil around Asta in turn, his fingers starburst out against his scarred shoulders and back. "You can make a few drinks and use that new fire of yours," he suggests.

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 //

“Mm, well, I can assure you I do not think your head is mostly empty, darling.” He confirms, tilting slightly to press a kiss to the crown of his head as if to prove it. “You simply leave room for impulse and improvising.” He smirks, lips quirking against the threads of golden strands beneath his lips before he’s settling again, fingers making an easy pattern along the base of his neck and the top of his shoulders.

To hear that it’s a date, the Butcher snorts. As Danta’s fingers starburst out a soft pattern against scar tissue and olive skin, Asta shivers delightfully. His tail twitches and shivers itself along Danta’s leg where it’s still wound. “Ooh, there is an idea. A little wild fire spark.” He muses, because the patrons of the Dusklight had seen his usual fire magic in display, they’d know immediately no one was bluffing when they see it change to green. “Will we get all dressed up, too?”

// 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

"Ah, so my head isn't empty - it's just full of bad choices waiting to be made," Danta corrects himself with a raise of his eyebrows and a grin. Given that he didn't mind being an airhead to begin with, he's clearly fine with this as well, though as Asta's fuss continues to drift across the top of his shoulders, his ability to reciprocate starts to grow sloppy at best. Humming a note of affection and nestling closer into the cage of the Butcher's arms, already his body is starting to grow heavy as sleep rises to try and claim him.

"Of course we'll get dressed up," he mumbles, the words interspersed with kisses along the side of Asta's throat. "It's basically a party for you, even if the rest of the Dusklight doesn't know it yet. And if we're going to Torchline soon, we need to go out with a bang." You know, after he's finished his nap.

The Maverick

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