black magic preacher

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Sorry," Danta says again - likely the most apologies Asta has heard from the Maverick since he's known him, and he allows himself to be ferried forward and against his chest. In their close proximity the taller man will feel the hot thunder of his pulse at odds with the ice cold of his fingers, even as they come around to ball against the silk shirt at Asta's back.

"Wine for sure," he mumbles, his voice muffled as his chin lands on the other man's uninjured shoulder. "I don't know that there's much to talk about." Swallowing hard, he huffs out a long and shaky breath, closing his eyes and leeching away the offered heat from the body against his own.

"That's a new one for me, though, I'll admit." Danta's laughter is hushed against the fabric of Asta's shirt, and though it's done to save face and nothing more, there's something to be said for humour in the face of haha, I dissociated and would have killed you.

Dantalion

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

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Astaroth rumbles, keeping Danta close to his chest, arms looping around him while the other threads through the Maverick’s blonde hair. The ice cold of Danta’s fingertips spark a little shiver against the heat from his skin and the wound that pulses with heat alongside the roaring fireplace. He keeps Danta pressed against him as he walks them back toward the bed, collecting the wine and glasses as he goes, before sitting properly on the bed and pulling Danta into his lap.

A low breathy rumble leaves him akin to a laugh as well, though perhaps a bit more awkwardly, uncorking the wine behind the Maverick, juggling it and the glasses. “You looked like you were considering killing me.” He drawls, chin brushing against Danta’s head as he pours one glass, leaning back a little to hand him one. “I am sorry for the things I did back then.” He murmurs, rounding his own glass back to the front of the Maverick now, dark gaze focusing intensely on him.

The cane remains somewhere on the floor far enough away that he doesn’t have to think about it too much. Right now his focus is on the blonde in his lap.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

It definitely feels like Danta has something to apologise for, the Maverick grumbling softly as he's steered back and towards the bed, only to find himself in Astaroth's lap. It's an intimate sort of moment that makes his gut curl uncomfortably, but the other man is a warm and solid presence, and he's loathe to leave it.

"I was," he says quietly, because there's no use in lying, is there? Asta was there for the whole thing. "Not just you, if it helps. A lot of people." Strangers, comrades, torturers - it had never mattered to Danta. Not until now, after sleeping for centuries, when he's been given free will, a region, and people who treat him like someone.

Wrinkling his nose at himself and sitting back enough to accept the glass of wine, the Maverick shoots it back like it's a shot of liquor and holds the glass out expectantly for another.

"You were just doing what you were told, same as me," he says. "At least we know now that apparently I have some unresolved anger issues, mm?"

Dantalion

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

“I figured as much.” Astaroth hums, because there’d been that gleam in Danta’s eye that was recognition and then not, and he’s reminded of how he’d disassociated too when Danta came swooping down as a crow of the worst day of his life. But, no harm he really happened. Nothing but the wound to his neck which in the grand scheme, is more than most people get on him.

He needs to down his own glass like a shot too, truthfully, humming a note of agreement — which doesn’t mean that it’s okay that he did it. But anyway, water under the bridge now, hm?

Fumbling a little to pour more into Danta’s glass, he refills his own as well, keeping some of that space between them as the bite finally starts to clot, staunching the blood. “It isn’t surprising. I am not much better, as you’ve seen.” That sharp toothed, knowing grin is shot toward the Maverick as he takes a slower sip of the wine, wincing a little as it tugs at the newly formed scab. “Though mine tend to lean into a madman of a different kind.” It wasn’t so much murder as it was curling up and disassociating from the horrific pain involved.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

Holding his glass steady for Asta, he takes the second drink a little slower, Danta savouring the crisp, cold sweetness of it and cradling it in one hand. "Just a couple of well-adjusted guys fresh from The Climb, eh?" He scoffs, raising his glass to clink it against the other man's in a toast. Only after another sip does he properly notice the horror show of the side of Asta's neck - and remembers, belatedly, that he's also covered in his blood.

"Damn, I didn't fuck around," he mutters, reaching out and tugging his sleeve over one hand to carefully press it to the wound to help it clot. "Least I didn't take a chunk of you as a souvenir." Which, you know, small victories and all that.

Taking a second to drain his second glass - it's still slower than the first, fuck you - Danta sets his cup down and all but melts forward to let his head loll against Asta's shoulder. "I forfeit my coin toss," he decides, sounding tired. "I think you deserve at least that much."

Dantalion

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

Snorting a sound as their glasses clink, Asta’s lips quirk into an amused smirk. “Oh, the most well-adjusted.” The sarcasm drips from his slightly accented tongue as he takes a sip. His goes slower, obviously not going through the crisis that Danta has just come down from, taking time to swirl it a little as the Maverick gets a good look at what he’s done.

The sleeve pressed against it has his nose wrinkling, dark gaze focusing on him. “You got the most on me than anyone else has. You get credit for that.” He drawls, before he takes another little sip. “And… Luckily for you, I have a high pain tolerance so it wasn’t that bad, despite how unused to it I am.” Gore crows and scar tissue and all of that.

Reaching to refill Danta’s glass for a third time, Asta’s tail waves idly as the weight of the blonde’s head is felt on his uninjured shoulder. “Perhaps my focus should be on taking care of you instead of you punishing me, mm?” In whatever way that means, he lets Danta decide. Truthfully, he could try to swing it back, but if the Maverick would prefer to curl up in the blankets in front of the fire, he isn’t opposed to it.

He does, however, finally notice the material of the muzzle and the bindings from where they lay on the bed as Asta’s lips quirk in charmed amusement. “Ah, you got them to match the matchbook. How even more incredibly thoughtful of you.”

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Mm, it's not about the pain tolerance," Danta murmurs, "but I appreciate you saying so." He leaves his sleeve pressed against the side of Asta's neck for the time being, his head resting on the opposite shoulder, and already the world is starting to grow warm around the edges in a way that simultaneously makes things feel better and infinitely more sad.

"Ugh, shut up." Playfully said, Danta's smile is something faint that Asta will feel against his throat more than anything else. "I am terrible at being taken care of." As the other man has likely already noticed, from the way the Maverick automatically swats at any attempt to fuss over him.

Still his hand does finally seem to relax against the other Ancient's shirt, smoothing out the soft silk as conversation turns to the leatherwork he'd procured. "Mm, it was certainly an interesting stall," he agrees with a smirk. "I couldn't believe what they had on offer."

Dantalion

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

“I know.” Asta says with a soft huff of a laugh, sighing lightly despite the amusement of it that remains the more that Danta starts to relax. He downs the rest of his glass and sets it aside, content to remain there with the Maverick as he playfully chides him. Chuckling a deep rumble, Asta leans his face in a little closer to him, sharp teeth surprisingly nonthreatening for once. “You are the worst.” Asta says with all the confidence of the truth of the words, as he notices the material.

Plucking the bindings used for his hands up, he runs it through his fingers as he inspects it, horned head tilting a little toward the Maverick as he speaks. “Is that so? Care to regale me of it?” He continues to run the strip of leather through his fingers, but his dark gaze remains on Danta, the flickering flames alighting the two men in the face of it, the taller Ancient waiting patiently to hear the tale.

It’s certainly not how he’d expected the evening to go, but he’s not complaining that he doesn’t have to bleed more.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

Lifting his chin haughtily despite clearly not minding being the worst, Danta's blue eyes flick to the leather between Asta's fingers, and he turns just enough to look at it properly. "Oh, you know," he says casually, reaching out to snag his glass and take another drink, "whips, gloves, that sort of thing. They even offered me a leash for your muzzle, but I thought that was too far."

With a fiendish smile, it's not entirely clear whether the Maverick is joking or not, because of all places for such a stall to exist right along the waterfront, Torchline isn't the least likely. Regardless, he sets his drink back down and carefully peels his sleeve away from the other man's neck, satisfied that it has stopped bleeding - and leaving his shirt with a perfect, bloody impression of his own teeth, as well.

Dantalion

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

Watching the leather thread through his fingers, his dark gaze lifts to spot Danta’s answering smirk, hidden behind the sip of wine he takes. All Asta can do is raise a dark brow, huff a laugh, and roll his eyes. “You know, I didn’t hate the muzzle.” He admits casually. “The leash would have been far too much, however.” Gladly an agreement the Maverick has already admitted to, Asta’s nostrils flare slightly as the sleeve is peeled from his neck, leaving that perfect imprint of the Maverick’s sharp teeth.

Now that the hand not drinking wine is free for the Maverick, Astaroth slips the leather around it, utilizing it to tug the hand toward him to inspect the bloody marks left behind (after all, he hasn’t seen a mirror to see the damage yet.) “You did get a good bite, darling.” He hums with a sharp toothed appreciation, flashing a grin back his way that’s a touch too toothy now. “I’m already sore.” He says on the air of a sigh, full dramatics in the air between them.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"No? I fully expected a fight on my hands, in truth," Danta confesses, his gaze still on his bloody sleeve, so he's oblivious to whatever mischief is running through Asta's mind and spilling out in his expression. "Noted, though." The muzzle on its own might not have been so bad - it was everything else that had tipped him headlong into chaos, and at least the Maverick has the decency to be able to admit it now.

Surprised to find the leather suddenly around his wrist, he nonetheless surrenders his hand to Asta's inspection, raising a curious brow as he glances from the Ancient to the crimson marks. "Well, I did tell you I was always hungry. That wasn't for show," he says with a roll of his shoulders; further evidence still stains his mouth and chin and neck, after all. "And sore already? What happened to that high pain threshold?"

Dantalion

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

“You are the first that has ever tried.” To muzzle him, that is. Everyone else had been well aware of what he was like and either kept a wide berth or encouraged it in the Climb. All in all, it was either keeping away from his sharp teeth and charm or sending unsuspecting souls straight for it. As it turns out, though, Danta is claiming many of Astaroth’s firsts. He isn’t sure what that says about him, these days.

Tugging Danta’s wrist toward him he makes his commentary, scanning the tooth shaped bloody marks, smirking as he hears Danta’s retort. “A low simmer that remains even when satisfied?” He drawls before his lips part in a wider, crooked grin, dark eyes focusing on Danta’s face again as he hums a little laugh. “I am still allowed to complain about being sore, even if it isn’t that bad.” He purrs, fingers tightening with the strap to tighten a little on Danta’s wrist. “Which means I am allowed to complain while also still being fully functional.” A charming wink is shot his way, before he dips down to run his tongue along his own blood, smearing the tooth marks left behind amongst the sleeve of the fabric.

Astaroth

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

in space the stars are no nearer; just glitters, like a morgue

"Oh, well a toast to me then," Danta croons, some of that old playfulness injecting into his tone, and he'd have reached again for his glass if one of his wrists hadn't been so successfully captured. As for the remarks about his hunger, he wrinkles his nose and tilts his head to rest it back against Asta's shoulder, even as they start to play kiss-chase with the leather and his hands.

"No," he says easily, albeit more quietly, "more like a yawning black hole. Maybe I was starved one too many times." Still, one learns to live with it - Danta certainly has, and it doesn't mean he doesn't still get bloodlust. It just doesn't feel like he does.

Anyway, those thoughts disappear as Asta bends to get a taste of himself (eyoo), Danta raising his eyebrows. "Is it everything you thought it would be?" he drawls.

Dantalion

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

A toast to Danta indeed, if they weren’t busy with their hands right now. As it stands, Asta continues to toy with the Maverick’s wrist, making claims here and there about his ability to be sore while also barely feeling anything at all. But he does listen intently to the comments of the hunger, humming thoughtfully as he does lean down to swipe up the warm blood, sighing at the iron tang, the heat of it against Danta’s sleeve.

“There is too much cotton.” He says with a soft laugh, still sharp toothed as he moves, utilizing the more relaxed stature of Danta to slip him back against the bed, drawing that hand above the Maverick’s head to keep it restrained as he leans in to get another taste against the blood on Danta’s neck.

His tongue is hot as he swipes it up the side of his neck, withdrawing to hover as he formulates his thoughts, settling instead for a halfway commentary of before when talking of bloodlust. “This is the longest I have gone without indulging.” He says with a hint of pride, but there’s a dark gleam in his gaze that seems to suggest that this is satisfying enough to stave it off.

Astaroth

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