[SE] sleep deprivations got me at my heels

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

He’s fairly certain he hasn’t slept in three days. Or has it been four? Nothing aside from the time he’d nodded off on accident while he’d been grabbing dinner one of those days from the kitchens – something he hasn’t mentioned to Danta, of course. Because he’s fine and he’s in control of everything, and if he doesn’t sleep then he doesn’t run the risk of biting the Maverick again. Or somehow.. Doing something worse.

In his sleep deprivation, he’s drummed up whole scenarios of nightmares that could become reality, and it’s kept him from even approaching the bed most nights – tottering about here and there, trying to ensure Danta slept, drinking way too much caffeinated tea, and whittling the hours away up on the mezzanine with frustration on how long it takes him to work or craft one handed.

He’s grateful for the gifts Flora have sent, if he’s being honest. But it takes everything in him not to nod off on their sofa he’s sitting on, bundled in the warm blankets and trying to take a sip of the tea for the umpteenth time only to find it empty each and every one of those times. “How is your back, darling?” The butcher asks for the third time in the last twenty minutes, having already forgotten he’d asked it earlier as he rises from the couch to get himself more tea, pouring some for Danta in case he’d already downed his, too.

It's while he’s there he finds the little package he’d nearly forgotten about – neatly wrapped (despite how the butcher knew Danta cared little for wrapping paper), and ready to be given. And perhaps, with the exhausted thoughts running through his head, now is likely as good a time as any to give the gift. At least it would be something nice in comparison to the bite he’d left behind.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

It's been three and a half days, Asta, so... you know, you're not wrong but you're definitely not right either. Having given up some time around day two on doing more than letting his lover have whatever he needs to feel in control, Danta has allowed Asta to be as helpful as he wants. (Yes, even though it has now descended into chaos). He's slept with the sneaky help of some of the butcher's sedatives, he's taken the drugs they've been given whenever he's been able, and the delightful healers from the Temple have visited them twice.

"It's feeling much better, thank you," he responds with as much cheer and patience as he had the first two times, Danta smiling from his place curled on the other side of the sofa. He's also draped in one of Flora's ridiculously soft blankets, busy massacring crocheting the frog she'd sent them, his long legs stretched out and into Asta's lap - or at least they are until he gets to his feet.

"And how is your shoulder?" he asks, despite also having responded this way both times (the difference being, of course, that he's doing it because it's mildly entertaining). Peeping over the back of the sofa to watch Asta potter around - and to make sure he doesn't pour himself something that isn't tea by accident - he raises his eyebrows at the package. "What have you got there?"

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

The answer feels familiar, but only in the way that the butcher isn’t so sure it wasn’t yesterday’s answer (not five minutes prior). And its with the repeat question that equally sounds familiar that the butcher pours more tea into his and Danta’s cups, collecting the package in the crook of his bad arm (the sling had its uses, he supposes), and balances the two cups as he returns. “It certainly has been worse.” He says for the third time, because it definitely has been worse.

But between the help from the healers, the butcher feels as if it won’t take too much longer before he’ll be able to utilize his arm again.

Delicately balancing the two cups and the package, the butcher slowly makes his way back toward the couch, setting Danta’s cup down first for him, beside the yarn of the frog that looks more like a heap than a frog, before he sets his own cup down to get ready to sit back down. “You have quite an eye, don’t you.” He drawls playfully, though the rumble of his voice is exhausted as it is amused. “It is a gift for you. I purchased it earlier this season.” Settling in and drawing the blanket up and around him, the butcher opts for putting up his glamour if only so his horns don’t snag on the blanket he winds around the back of his head and promptly (one handed speed), tries to stack Danta’s legs back onto his lap before he hands the package to him and twists a little to watch him.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

"Hopefully it will be even better soon," Danta trills, smiling to himself as he watches Asta - and though he wants to get up to go and assist him with the cups and the package he carries, he knows better than to invite any sort of protest. Instead, murmuring a thanks to the other man as he sets down his drink, Danta waits for the butcher to get comfortable with his glamour and his blanket, and then dutifully stretches his legs back across his lap.

"What can I say? Watching you go about your day is one of my favourite hobbies," he purrs; and he's a lot better at it than he is at crochet, if the sad sack of a frog is anything to go by. "A gift? You shouldn't have." Grinning and accepting the present to open it with care if only because he can't be certain he isn't going to rip the item if he's too abrupt, he raises an eyebrow playfully towards his lover.

"I got you a present too, you know. Great minds think alike, mm?"

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

A sudden gust stirs the dusty ground, and you hear a shuffle just behind you—a scrape of earth, there and gone. Whirling around, you see only emptiness. Yet something tugs at the corner of your mind, as if unseen eyes peer from the silence.

---

This does not count as a Random Event for levelling or MP. There will be no further admin/re intervention.

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

He hopes it will, too. It’s been exhausting on top of the fact he refuses to sleep. Frustrating, too, with how little he can manage to do much of anything. But for now, he thinks little of the fact he hasn’t slept in forever (despite how Danta keeps track), and only seems to relax once he’s got the blanket situated around him and Danta’s legs warm and in the spot they should be, his good arm curling around by his lover’s knee as he snorts.

“No? How else am I to show my appreciation?” Coms the soft playful tease, one that has him melting more into the couch as the seconds tick on. But he isn’t going to fall asleep just yet, not when the strange breeze flits through the room and dust curls up. It sends the butcher immediately on edge, looking up and over the back of the couch to see that nothing’s different, though he can’t help but to feel watched. For the second time here in the Dusklight this week. “Did you?” He asks, distractedly, before he has to force his dark, tired gaze to his lover to see him open the gift.

Inside the careful wrapping paper, there’s a dark leather valet tray, imprinted with a brand that says for my darling Danta in a beautifully brilliant curve. It pushes away the awkwardness of the strange appearance in their room for the moment and it has the butcher settling in a little bit more, letting his attention flit up to Danta’s face for his reaction. “It is so when you inevitably run out of room on the holder I made for you—” and you threw and rebuilt “—that you will have a space to place the rest of your jewelry.” He hums softly, a touch of pride lingering through his tone. "Seeing as you wear so many of them." His thumb brushes along Danta's kneecap as he speaks in lieu of snagging one of those hands in question.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

"I know you know plenty of ways to show your appreciation," Danta says with a crooked smile as he unwraps the gift, his fingers stilling at the strange and otherworldly presence that seems to fill the room. "...Yeah, I did," he murmurs with equal distraction, peering over the back of the couch as well and watching the room as if expecting whatever was there to pop out and say hello. Narrowing his eyes, only when he's satisfied that there's nothing untoward approaching does he turn back to the present.

Blue eyes light up at the sight of the valet tray and its delicate branding, Danta holding it to the light and grinning. "You," he tells him, "are terribly thoughtful, you know that?" Shifting to sit up properly - sorry, Asta - and leaning in to press a kiss to the butcher's cheek, the Maverick murmurs his thanks against the scruff of his jaw before rolling to his feet, his movements substantially improved compared to a few days ago.

"Speaking of jewellery, though, and how much we are both starting to wear..." Smirking and going to rummage in one of his drawers, Danta takes out a small leather box, bringing it over to Asta so he might open it. "I thought it was time you had your own look, instead of having to borrow mine," he says with a playful wink. Within, the butcher will find the delicate bloodstone stud and the silver fang earrings, Danta perching on the arm of the couch nearest to his lover to see his reaction.

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

Ah, he isn’t sure how much of that kind of affection he’ll be getting away with in the near future. But alas, the strangeness begins to disperse and Astaroth focuses wholly on the way Danta looks at the valet tray, letting the smile tug onto his face to see those beautiful blues light up. “I do try.” Comes the soft admission, Astaroth shifting slightly to let Danta sit up more properly – mourning the loss of Danta’s legs, but it makes up for it with the kiss pressed to his cheek and the thanks muffled into his bearded jaw – one that’s grown out a fair amount longer now that he doesn’t have the ability to trim it regularly.

It's his turn to watch his lover drift across the floor, scanning him for any signs of pain or distress and when he finds nothing but easier movements, the butcher relaxes and sips from the cup of tea as his lover returns. Looking up at him from where he’s settled in the arm of the couch, the butcher snags the leather box with his right hand, quietly grateful for the size of his palms when he goes to open it one handed.

The smile brightens to see the bloodstone and silver fang revealed, peering up at Danta from his burrito-ified hood of a blanket to flash that sharp smile at him full of gratitude. “These are beautiful, darling.” He hums with every ounce of his exhausted happiness, setting the box down in his lap after inspecting them before he runs that hand through his long hair, brushing it back and out of the way without the antlers to hide it. “I am afraid I cannot get them on myself just yet. Unless, of course, you might take pity on an old man.” It’s a playful teasing, his jest isn’t as witty as it otherwise would be given his state.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

"You try and you succeed," Danta praises with an indulgent smile curling at his lips, his fingers (adorned with rings that will soon find their place on the valet tray) slipping up and through Asta's dark hair as he watches him open the box. He hasn't seen the jewellery since he and Kiada had purchased it on their outing, and he's pleasantly satisfied to see the pieces still as eye catching as when he'd first found them.

"I'm glad you like them. And I don't think your being one-armed right now is anything to do with you being old," he teases, leaning in to drop a kiss against the top of his head (or the blanket covering it, anyway). "Nevertheless, I'd be honoured to take pity on you." Carefully turning Asta's face up towards him, Danta reaches out to remove the ruby stud and the silver hoop with practiced, careful movements. Swapping them for the new set in the box, it isn't long before the Maverick is admiring the bloodstone and the fang glittering in Asta's ears.

"Very handsome," he purrs. "Ah - while we are here, though - I believe the tailor dropped off your muzzle with the new straps. We can try it on you, while I've got you here playing dress up?"

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

So inherently pleased to know he succeeds, it almost outweighs the exhaustion clinging to his features. Exhaustion that vanishes the second that he opens his own gift, radiating happiness in all the ways he can without his glamour and without the typical means of showing his appreciation. The fingers that drift through his hair are a welcome touch, especially around the space his horns typically resided, and when he makes his request, it’s with an almost tender gleam to his gaze.

“Perhaps it does. Perhaps that is why I cannot heal quickly.” He suggests, pointing out the obvious as Danta’s pressing the kiss against the top of his head, quelling the dramatics for the moment so that he can remain still enough for his lover to remove the earrings and replace them with the beautiful gifts.

Once he’s done and drawn back, the butcher’s smile is soft as it is tired, gentle when he finds his lover’s face again. “They feel quite comfortable.” He comments softly, before a dark brow lifts when Danta brings up something else. The fixed muzzle, notably, and subconsciously his gaze flits toward the arm he’d bit however long ago (three and a half, Asta, as Danta has said), before he nods. “Sounds lovely, darling.” He hums, leaning in to greedily snag another soft and chaste kiss from Danta and drain his mug so that it won’t get cold while they try it on.

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

"No, I'm pretty sure your not healing quickly is down to you using your broken shoulder at every opportunity you get," Danta says, amusement twinkling in his eyes as he sits back to properly admire the butcher's new look. Much as he appreciates the jewellery in his ears, though, he can't help but also note the obvious signs of exhaustion etched into his face - which is why his next ask is double-edged.

Humming softly against Asta's mouth and the kiss he plants upon it, Danta nods and carefully tugs the blanket down from over his head before rising to his feet to fetch the repaired muzzle. The bandages on his arm are still there for now, crisp and white, and the Maverick has a mind to keep the wound covered until it's completely healed and free of bruising.

In the meantime, though, he brings the muzzle in its box from the tailor back to their couch, sinking down onto it beside Asta this time and removing the delicate metal to hold it up. "He added an extra strap, I think," he says as he turns it this way and that. "And the leather he used looks stronger. Still feels soft, though." Glancing to Asta and waiting for permission, once the butcher gives it, Danta will reach out to carefully clasp and buckle the contraption around his mouth and jaw.

"How does it feel?" he asks.

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

“Hey,” the butcher protests briefly, letting it stop there because unfortunately (and as much as he hates to admit it), Danta is right. So he clamps his mouth shut with a stiff click of stubbornness, snorting after as he shakes his head. Only then is he leaning forward to steal a kiss, withdrawing to settle back in with the blanket now around his shoulders. He finishes his tea while the Maverick snags the muzzle, settling easily into the couch and drawing a leg up comfortably, tucking it under his other leg when Danta returns.

As the muzzle is held up, Asta leans in and peers at it, head tilting slightly as he notes the differences. “I hope it is enough.” Comes the quiet admission before he’s leaning forward, glamour still in place to allow for easy placement. The metal is cold where it touches his warm skin and he shivers a little with it, frowning before it starts to warm up. As it’s secured, though, the butcher takes a moment to open and close his mouth, feeling how it feels against his jaw and the back of his head.

“It feels about the same. The leather, I mean. The muzzle itself does feel more secure.” Cocking his head sharply to look at Danta like a dog might hear a sharp high pitched whistle, he offers him a small and tired smile. “What do you think?” Is it enough?

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine

// the kinda wrong that make you feel right //

"Secure is fine, as long as it doesn't feel uncomfortable," Danta remarks, releasing the butcher once the muzzle is in place to give him a chance to manoeuvre in it and test it out for himself. As the other man cocks his head towards him, though, the Maverick can't help the grin that flashes across his face, and he reaches out to cup his cheek, even caged as it is by the metal.

"It will be enough," he says, sounding softly confident. "Not that I think this will be easy to rip off, but it only has to hold for long enough that I get out of the way. And if you're trying to tear it off your face, odds are good that will wake me the fuck up." He isn't about to be stupid enough to stick around while Asta is snapping his teeth any more, put it that way.

Speaking of waking up, though, Danta's smile softens and he shifts a little closer to Asta, slipping his arms around him as best he can on the sofa. "Want to know a secret?" he murmurs softly. "...I know you haven't slept in days. So I think you need to keep that muzzle on and lay down right here."

Dantalion

// the little death that make you feel alive //

so give me your prayers up on your feet
and i'll give you a show, it helps fill the seats

“It is not.” He confirms while he makes his tests, stilling only when Danta cups his cheek, allowing his dark gaze to flit to his lover immediately with a small look of a question mark. He hums softly, nodding, despising the fact that they have had to resort to his but having no other choice when things haven’t worked thus far. And he hasn’t had a chance to see their beloved Dygra yet.

So for now it will have to do, and he nods his head before he nuzzles it into Danta’s hand despite being caged, withdrawing only when the Maverick slips a little closer and winds his arms around him, easily winding the one working one he has back around him in turn. “Sure, darling.” He murmurs to the question, before he falls silent. And gods, he’d really tried to hide it, yet when it’s out in the open it sounds just as ridiculous as he feels right now.

He feels heavy and exhausted, and without the pretense of pretending, he sags a little in his arms with a puff of a sound. “I had imagined it would be safer.” Comes the quiet admission, but with the muzzle in place and without any triggering thoughts, the butcher does in fact, take the Maverick up on his offer. He shifts, pulling the blanket with him, still keeping his glamour up as he tries to aim for pressing his head into Danta’s lap, his exhaustion growing more evident by the minute. So much so, in fact, that the second he’s found the comfort of being wrapped up in the blanket and toasty warm without his arm killing him, he's only awake long enough to murmur a tired "was it that obvious?"

Astaroth

so give me your sins, give me your lies
but whisper your love, and i'll whisper mine