onebehind | making war just for fun (for first

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making war just for fun (for first_rule)

The good news was, at some point before the end of the week, before hurting Jack, before most of the truly terrible thing he'd done, Dylan had realized he needed help. The bad news was this realization had hit during one of the lows, and he'd decided what he needed wasn't to be fixed, to regain his (mostly) moral high ground, but to sink entirely and stop having moments of conflict and hesitation. He also wanted to be able to keep this power, once the week was out, because really, what fun would the ultimate loss of what little light remained in him be if he was left largely impotent again, at the end of it all, half his magic still missing? What point would there be to finally wanting to throw his weight around here, without concern for who he hurt in the process, if he had no weight to actually throw?

And so he'd gone to one of the darker Agents. Attar, Loki -- take your pick, really. He'd made a deal for a couple of favors at a later date, none of which he had any intention of ever actually fulfilling, and after he'd walked away, he'd spent the rest of the week dealing with the final death throes of his morality, desperate flickers of panic and conscious, before it curled up and died entirely. Now, there was nothing holding him back, he had power overflowing at his fingertips, and all was well. Thankfully, he'd also leveled out to a certain degree, but only a little. He wasn't so hellbent on murdering Jack, now -- now, it seemed more sensible to try and turn him and the other Horsemen, first -- but destroying Teleios? Oh, that was certainly on the agenda.

Maybe he'd find Samuel and Bailey and, after making them suffer for the hurt they'd inflicted on him (maybe he'd force them to hurt themselves as he'd hinted at Daniel might be in store for Jack, his voice still and now forever a thing of power), find whatever little doom they planned to use on the city and make it his own. Maybe he'd just see what trouble he could get up to on his own or with the Horsemen. Maybe -- well, there were so many possibilities, really, and he had so many ideas.

Right now, though? First, he was going to have a drink. A toast to himself and to something actually going right in this hellhole for once.

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Dylan tightened his arms around Daniel as he felt him falter, supporting him as much as Daniel was trying to support himself and likely doing a better job. He held him there, another soft sound slipping out of him as the blood he took from Daniel carried his pleasure with it, and then, all too soon perhaps for both of them, he was pulling away. He'd meant what he'd said about not taking enough to permanently hurt or kill him.

He stayed close afterwards, however, arm still around him, palm still flat just above his waist, and licked at his lips idly. His fingers brushed just as idly, teasingly, over his stomach. In that moment, he might have been just as interested in something more, but he wouldn't pursue it. Unless, of course, Daniel begged. He still had some morals, however loose.

"See?"

Jesus Christ but it wasn't supposed to feel good, dammit. He didn't care what the movies and books showed. His mentor, his damned friend, had just drank his blood and it should have him whispering softly, not even sure if they were words, asking for more in something that was little more than an exhalation of breath.

Whimpers turned to whining though as Dylan withdrew his fangs, knowing he wanted more. More of the way that felt. More of that gentle touch that had him wriggling slightly, wondering if he moved just right if his shirt would rise, or Dylan's hand would drop further.

Yet his own desires were not nearly enough to blind him to a reality he wasn't sure he could have even fantasized about. Dylan pressed hard against his hip. He had no idea what to think about that, what to even say, though it seemed to clear enough of his mind to come up with a sharp quip.

Or so he thought. It was a lot more like the neediness of the boy he had once been beneath the man he projected to the world.

"Yeah, okay. You were right. It was good. Shame I don't believe that," he said, fighting the urge to grind back against Dylan while he was still feeling the glow of the bite and not letting himself forget reality. It didn't stop him from pressing back against him more firmly. "Was about me and not how good I taste," he said, knowing after the words were out of his mouth he probably sounded pretty needy.

Dylan groaned as Daniel pressed back against him, his eyes fluttering half-closed for a moment. Belatedly, he bit down on his own lower lip in an effort to silence himself, drawing blood. Less than belatedly and almost reflexively, his hips jerked back against Daniel's, leveraging for the friction they both wanted.

"It didn't hurt -- " The way he tasted. " -- but try me and find out," he breathed.

And if Daniel did ask for it, he could give him whatever he wanted. He could be whoever Daniel wanted, even Henley, if that got him off. Not that he figured he needed help, but ah, the joys of being a shapeshifter permanently, now.

Okay. Daniel has come to a conclusion. He is fucked in the head. That's all it can be. Because not fifteen minutes ago he shot Dylan in the head, and now he's moving against Daniel in ways he really wanted to continue, and not just because they felt good but because it was Dylan and he liked this... and if that didn't prove he had totally lost it, he wasn't sure what did.

Encouragement though was all he needed. Reaching back, one hand sliding around to grip wherever he could, hip or waist, he didn't care, just enough to let him rock against Dylan. Okay so it was grinding, wanton and needy. Even as the other hand went up and back, trying to tangle in those damn curls. Fuck logic. Fuck doing the right thing.

Truth was Daniel had been with the Horseman a year, wanting Henley and remembering and not ruining things making that play, and not forgetting his pain in groupies and alcohol and dammit, but he just wanted to feel good and screw the consequences.

Dylan made another small sound as Daniel started rocking against him in earnest and, dropping his head to his shoulder almost helplessly (that would at least make it easier for Daniel to fist a hand in his hair), pushed back against him in time. He stayed like that for some time, occasionally nipping at Daniel's shoulder through his shirt, fingers curling and uncurling in his shirt, his breathing, for as little as he really needed to breath like this, short and heavy, then finally, he raised his head to put his mouth near Daniel's ear.

"I can give you whatever you want," he murmured, trying and mostly succeeding at keeping his tone level despite everything. A moment of pause followed, and then, in Henley's voice, he offered, "Even her. All you have to do is ask, Danny. Beg."

Because if Daniel didn't, he would, and he didn't want that. Not when he was supposed to be the one running the show here, in every sense of the word.

That felt good. Okay, this he could do. Imagining what it would be like, naked, bodies heat, letting Dylan take him, relaxing not because he was told to but because he wanted to, even as he canted his head, offering his throat.

And doing it not just in his imagination, but there with Dylan as he felt that nip on his shirt. Wanting more, wanting him to do it again.

Mouth opening, ready to ask for it, the blood, the naked bodies, all of it. Then Henley's voice.

"No."

He moved suddenly, twisting and writhing to turn and face Dylan, hands clutching at the man's shirt. "I don't want her here. I want you." And he meant it. "I don't want to fuck her right now. I want to be with you," he said, licking his lips and looking at him with puppy dog eyes and desperation. "Please."

it was the hardest word for him, panting as he stared into Dylan's eyes. "You said whatever I want," he said.

Thinking about how he had felt about their mysterious benefactor, developing emotions for an enigma that had offered him everything he wanted. Then learning it was the man that kept him on his toes, the one that had pushed him harder and longer than anyone had ever kept up with him. Always be the smartest man in the room. Maybe Daniel was now. Maybe he wasn't. He did not that he respected Dylan, even after all he'd done to him today, and he had thought about more, late at night, trying to ignore the conflicting emotions and heated hormones.

"I want you."

Even as he said it, he leaned in, trying to claim a kiss, knowing he was likely to taste his own blood there and not caring.

Interesting.

Dylan would have thought Daniel would have appreciated the idea of being to have Henley again -- or anyone else he wanted, for that matter. He would have been all too happy to give it to him, too, just for a chance to watch Daniel squirm, just for the begging, the power trip, all of it. (And maybe he was a little curious as to what it would be like on the other end of things. Not that he'd let Daniel have that, like this. If he had a dick, he was going to use it, thank you.) But Daniel wanted him? Eh, maybe he shouldn't have been too surprised. Kid was always desperate for attention.

Shrugging internally, he darted in to meet Daniel for the kiss, his mouth hungry on his and yes, tasting of his own blood. When he pulled away, it was with a nip, hard enough to draw more blood. He hummed at the smell of it and, of course, at the kiss itself. "Fine by me."

And that, again, was in his own voice.

Another time, maybe. Another time when he hadn't just shot Dylan in the head, or had this chance to be with a man he looked up to like he did Dylan. Physical sex meant little to Daniel. It was about two things. Love, like in the case of Henley, or fulfilling other needs that the magician had. Needs that had to do with feeling wanted, needed, even special. He wouldn't admit to those needs, hated the very idea of giving voice to them. Actions were something else entirely.

Moaning into the kiss, one hand almost clinging to the back of Dylan's neck as if worrying he might move away. Then another bite, the sharper, fresh taste of his own blood and he shuddered even as he leaned in, pressing soft kisses to the line of Dylan's jaw. The sting of stubble was different but not unpleasant, and he thought about it against his neck, his chest. Anywhere that would leave that pleasurable tingling of short hairs on his skin.

"Good." Already his fingers were working on the buttons of Dylan's shirt, wanting to touch him, to feel wanted, to do what he could be amazing for him. It had nothing to do with the shooting, or the blood taken, or even the feeling still of how it had felt to grind wantonly against the other man, and was all about Daniel wanting to show Dylan just how good he could be.

Dylan didn't particularly care about the reasoning -- it was a little hard to, even if he wanted to, what with the kisses, with Daniel's fingers in his shirt. Humming, he tilted his head away, giving him better access to his throat and, perhaps counter-productively, albeit not intentionally so, wrapped his arms around Daniel's waist and tugged him hard against it.

It was a shame, almost, that Daniel wasn't like him, not anymore, that he couldn't grow fangs, bite him, drink from him. Maybe that was something he'd see if he couldn't work out later. Not turn Daniel, if he even could since he wasn't a true vampire, but order him to become a monster in body and see if it worked. For now, though, he made due with pulling up the back of Daniel's shirt, holding it in place with his wrists and digging his nails into his skin as if that would help him pull him closer. As if it were physically possible.

For a man who made his living with the nimbleness of his fingers, he felt actually clumsy in that moment. Feeling it was taking forever to get each button open, taking too much time he could be using for so much else.

Pressing in as strong arms held him tight, kissing and licking and nipping at the planes and lines of Dylan's chest, soft hairs brushing his cheek. Like the stubble it was a stark reminder who he was with, where he was going with each popped button and soft, desperate sound he made. Not even caring how he sound with every soft ground and whimper, even in sex Daniel couldn't just shut up, after all.

Suddenly he arched, crying out with a sound that nearly caught in his throat as he felt nails dig into his skin. It burned and felt good and he shifted so they dug deeper as he found himself grinding against Dylan once more.

Begging. He had mentioned begging in that tone that sent shocks through Daniel.

"Please? Please more. Strip me down. Touch me. Bite me. Please, Dylan? I need you."

Despite his obvious pleasure at the begging and Daniel pressing himself against him again, Dylan still managed a (mostly) dignified albeit amused noise at the bite me comment. Never mind the fact that he planned on it, probably wouldn't be able to help himself once they were going in earnest even if he didn't take much in the way of blood. Just enough to make it good for Daniel. Just enough to make it good for himself with the taste of his pleasure under his tongue and his thoughts in his head.

Either way, that done, he pulled away a little, just enough to plant a hand on Daniel's chest and push him roughly backwards towards the wall. He followed a beat after that, and quickly, inhumanly so, there and then practically on top of Daniel in the span of a heartbeat. He leered down at him for a breath or two, eyes still dark, bloody, and then held up a hand, wincing faintly as his nails split, fell away, shards of bone pushing up from under them. Maybe he'd wait on finding out if he could give Daniel claws, among other things, but he could and would use everything he had at his disposal for himself.

He flexed his fingers once they'd come in, stopped growing, and then reached to lay a single fingertip, clawpoint over Daniel's heart. He held it there for a moment, and then he was dragging his finger down over Daniel's chest carefully, newly grown nails cutting through his shirt as if it were paper. It was easier, ruining his clothes than trying to get him out of them properly, he could always find something new later. And if he complained? Well, Dylan missed it, slicing a thin line across his chest as he finished before leaning in to press his mouth to the wound with a low, pleased sound as blood welled up in it. It wasn't a bite, but it would have the same effect.

All it had taken was a few touches, that insanely good bite, and suddenly Daniel was a mewling kitten, begging for more. He didn't even care that he was begging, that the man he was begging was his mentor, a friend, and now he just wanted whatever he'd give him. Just so that he could feel wanted, special, needed.

So when he was pushed back, he made a sound, a squeak, hating that maybe it was ending. If Dylan laughed, he wasn't sure he could or would ever recover. Not that it mattered. A moment later Dylan was there, looming over him in a way he suspected only Dylan could manage. Only this Dylan could manage.

He gasped as Dylan's nails split, staring at them, stunned. Watching as his nails grew, not sure what to think. "Dylan..."

A shiver of fear running through him, stunned and utterly confused.

Yet then he knew. It wasn't denying him but wanting him. Stripping him down with that exquisite control as his shirt fell open, baring pale skin with that red ribbon where the claw had opened his skin. He didn't doubt it was intentional.

Especially not when he began suckling at the blood. Crying out softly at the sensation. Writhing, trying to get his hands between them, fingers fumbling for Dylan's fly to try and get them over.

"Fuck. That should not feel that good," he moaned, trembling as he fought to try and get to more.

Dylan angled his hips in Daniel's direction -- an idle attempt at help as he kept his mouth at the line of red he'd carved into him. A hum followed in lieu of a response, mouth ever occupied, and he traced his fingertips down Daniel's side in turn, careful not to cut him again but not without a hint of sharpness, of claws.

His hand stopped at his waist, lingered there for a moment, actual human nails reforming as he pulled the claws back in, and then he moved for his fly, too. He could have just destroyed his pants, but that would have been iffier, especially with the way Daniel was moving. It would probably kill the moment if he accidentally went all Lorena Bobbitt on him.

(Though, now he was curious if he could make Daniel into a woman. Not anyone in specific, still himself in aesthetics, but enough so that they could actually do something beyond just jerking each other off, as good as that would probably be, as hard as he was.)

His fingers caught on fabric, popping the button and catching the tab to pull down his fly. That, that was a good start. Finding himself caught between wanting to arch, offer more of his skin so that Dylan's mouth could find more skin, that he could feel the stubble brushing over him, and wanting to touch and caress and feel the weight of Dylan's cock in his hand and it was driving him mad.

He wasn't even sure it was the feeding, or so long without more than his own hand, or was it just Dylan himself. Charisma and power and Daniel couldn't get enough.

In truth he was glad he had withdrawn the claws. Good as they felt on his skin, he was still a paranoid man by nature and he kind of liked his parts where they were. Or at least not sliced off.

Not that he was even more than mildly considering that. Not as his fingers pushed at whatever lay beneath Dylan's slacks, sliding the tips of his fingers over the other man's length.

Dylan couldn't help himself -- he whined into Daniel's skin and bit down, unthinking, fangs catching in the wound, deepening it. (He'd have to see if he couldn't force Daniel's body to heal with a word, after this. Feed him his blood, knowing that would work, if a command didn't.) Pull of blood more insistent now, his hips stuttered into Daniel's hand, his own fisting in waist of Daniel's pants, tugging at them. He wanted more, he wanted --

Letting out heavy trembling exhale of breath, he broke away from the bite, from his fingers on his cock reluctantly, the act of will it all took apparent in the way he moved. Another breath and he was darting up to crush his mouth against Daniel's, briefly, before he pulled away, lips lingering near his ear all at once, now. He laid a hand against Daniel's chest, kneading almost thoughtfully at the muscle there, and then, winding magic into his words, he murmured, "Do me a favor? Just -- be a woman for about an hour. Still you, but -- Christ, I want to fuck you."

That said, he pulled back a little, watching him expectantly, hand still held where breasts would rise, if and when this worked.

Though was gone. Daniel was going on instinct. The sharp sudden sensation of pleasure as teeth tugged at his skin. The way it felt having thick flesh in his hands, wanting to bring Dylan the same sort of pleasure that the man had brought him.

So when he pulled away, Daniel shook his head, whimpering as he shifted, preparing to fucking get on his knees and beg if he had to. If Dylan was changing his mind, Daniel would do whatever he had to so he changed it back.

But then he was back. Hard kisses with teeth and tongue and Daniel shifted, one leg curling around Dylan's calf, wanting to arch, to present himself, to offer more even as he felt the soft shush of breath on his ear, the odd but pleasurable sensation of a hand caressing him in a way that Daniel had caressed many a woman.

The magic seemed to tingle along his skin, the words that came with the command of magic, even when nearly couched as a request. In his mind it wasn't what it was though. It was wanting to fuck him. It was Dylan not being into guys and maybe wanting to not look Daniel in the face as he took him. Whatever it was, he nodded without thinking. "Course. Yeah. Fuck me," he panted, thinking of being taken and being willing to be mounted like that.

Except even as he nodded, the magic was already weaving around him, into him, through him.

The skin on his chest stretched, pushing upward and outward, filling out as he gasped, squirming as he could feel the magic take hold, changing him to fit words he'd agreed to. The one breast pushed at Dylan's hand, the hard peak of the nipple brushing his palm, making Daniel gasp even as he pushed back against the wall as if he could get away from it. Away from the weight that pulled down and yet magic kept them high, perky, full breasts that he would have found himself hard over on another. Now though there was the small thought he hoped they were what Dylan liked even as his hand went to the other breast, tugging back the remaining fabric as he stared down, whining as fear tried to take hold.

Yet he had no time to think. Even as his own fingers brushed the nipple, feeling the pleasure caused by that touch that was so different from the fear that made his eyes wide, a ring of white around them as he looked to Dylan.

"What? Why... Oh fuck. Oh God."

The last as he felt his cock twitch, that hard length deflating as if he'd been kicked in the balls. Kicked in the same sac that he could feel, could actually feel, retreating up into his body. It was like ice water and snow on his balls, and yet he could almost feel the skin ripping, twisting, drawing up into his body as if a hand were pushing his manhood into his body. Reforming him, making him into a woman, a body that was made for Dylan to fuck, to let him use Daniel for pleasure and give the magician as much pleasure as he could. It felt that way too, like it was for pleasure, for his body to let him have it all even as he gave himself to Dylan.

There should be pain as his dick practically melted, becoming smooth and silky skin, full of nerve endings and already slick with the arousal that had shown in his hard cock. Instead all he felt was pleasure. Pleasure from Dylan's hand on his breast. Pleasure from the way his clit, that former head of his cock shrunk down and a million fucking nerve endings pushed into it and how did girls live like this? - How it felt as it rubbed against his jeans while he writhed and bucked from the sensation of being formed not by a surgeon but by magic itself.

"Dylan. Shit. I can't... What? Oh God."

Fear still tried to take hold, even as the magic made him want it. He'd asked for it, after all. Then he shifted, grinding himself against Dylan's open fly and feeling hard flesh rub hard against that already wet, tender slit. His hands clutched at Dylan's shoulders, head falling back against the wall with a hard thunk.

His body ached, inside and out. He could still feel where he'd been formed, made a woman with a tight opening where his dick had been and as he rubbed himself against Dylan, he found himself lost in the new sensation, in the idea of being consumed by another, taken, claimed that first time and used. Wanted. Dylan wanted him like this and he wanted that.

"Fuck. Yeah. Oh God. Please?" He wasn't even sure what he was asking for, even as he kept imagining what it would be like, taking it for the first time in a way that was impossible and real at the same time.

"Relax," Dylan breathed, perhaps another order, perhaps not, but either way distant as he watched in wonder as new flesh rose up underneath his hand and beside it. He put his other hand to Daniel's shoulder, to hold him there, to keep him from escaping if his demand wasn't enough, while the other, well. He shifted his position there, cupping his (her?) breast lightly so that he could drag a thumb over his nipple, eyes darting from his face to gauge his reaction, to his half-open fly, watching as the weight there caved in, reformed, became something else. He wished in that instant that he'd told Daniel to strip before he changed him, belatedly keen on watching as his cock pulled in on itself. He supposed he'd have to live with the way Daniel smelled, now, the smell of his sex, of how wet he was, instead.

That, at least, was almost as good, and he moaned, that in mind, the hand at his shoulder dropping away. He kept the other at his breast, massaging it lightly, teasing his thumb over his nipple, touch no more than a ghost, meant to wind him up further if it was at all possible, and as Daniel's head fell back, buried his face in his throat. He tongued lightly at the vein there, groaning, and as Daniel arched against him, he bucked back, hips grinding against his as if by the own volition. Another soft sound followed. Yeah, God, that was -- yeah.

"God, you smell good," he told him as he pulled his mouth away.

Wanting now, more even that he had been before if only because he could, in fact, fuck Daniel like this and all without getting shit on his cock, he reached between them. His fingers slid between his legs, tracing the new, wet line that had appeared, then over himself, and then without further hesitation, he was tearing at his jeans, literally tearing, wanton with his strength, destroying them all but completely. Daniel would never wear this pants again. A shame, too, especially when the thought that he might get off every time he wore them after this ran screaming through his head. Particularly after what he was about to do to him.

Oh, well.

Thought evaporating whether or not he wanted it to, he reached for himself again now that Daniel was bare, pulling his length free of pants and underwear in earnest. He traced his fingers over his cock, as if he needed the help (he was already so hard it hurt), and then shifted faintly, repositioning Daniel and himself just enough. When he was satisfied, he lowered his head, pulling one of those new, perfect nipples into his mouth, tongue working over it at once, as erratic as the breath he didn't really need on his skin, and eased his cock into Daniel, whimpering as he did so. He would have told him he felt good, too, hot and tight, and God, why hadn't he thought to fuck someone before, like this, for as sharp as all of his senses were in the vampire shift, touch included, and -- oh. Oh, he'd done good. This was good.

He'd move in a minute, set them a pace in a minute. For the moment, he was too enthralled by the feel of him around him.

Relax. How the hell was he going to relax? Even if he hadn't just developed a spectacular rack, and an already wet cunt that was pulsing, aching to be filled. He knew that was what the sensation was, and he wanted it. He wanted to feel filled, to feel himself stretched and pounded until he couldn't even catch his breath. There was the fear of just what it would be like - would it hurt? Was he a virgin? - and yet his body didn't care for his fears. It wanted to be fucked, and that was all that mattered.

Those delicate touches of Dylan's hand on Danny's breast left him whimpering, trying to keep his eyes open even as they fluttered shut.

"Fuck. Please. God, Dylan. You can't do this to me and not...." He paused, licking his lips. "Come on. Fuck me?"

He knew he was pleading, something he had never done, and Danny didn't care. None of that mattered as long as he got everything he needed.

Moaning, loving that Dylan liked the smell of him. "I feel... I feel so wet. For you," he managed, shuddering as he thought about that, about how it had to feel. Soft and slick where he'd been hard, open and ready for a man like Dylan to take him like Daniel may have fantasized as but never thought he could have. Definitely not like this.

A need that was suddenly desperation as he felt strong fingers brush over wet, new flesh. "Dylan!?" Half command, all need, hips bucking and grinding himself against Dylan's hand. If he just moved a little, just right, he could have those skilled fingers inside of him. Yet a moment later they were gone, and the sound he gave was like a sob that caught in his throat.

Shock made him jump, crying out as fabric slid down his legs, tangling about his ankles as his pants were shredded. It should have scared him but all he cared was that it left him bare, letting Dylan moved between his legs.

Yes, that! That was good, he thought, shifting to slide one foot up the back of Dylan's calf. Even better! It made him feel open, wanton and ready. Not ready enough though. The sensation of cock sliding into him was mindblowing and Danny clutched desperately at Dylan's shoulders, clawing at the fabric even as his leg jumped up higher, catching at the back of Dylan's thigh. The motion let him pull himself up further, sliding himself along thick flesh.

"Fuck. Oh God, that feels so good," he moaned, though if it was about finally having a dick in him, or that warm, sexy mouth on his breast was anyone's guess.

Unfortunately, Dylan had to pull his mouth away from his breast as Daniel's leg crept upwards and he sunk deeper into him. That might have been a problem, too, if he wasn't in agreement with Daniel, an echoed breath of "Oh, God," slipping out of him. He closed his eyes briefly, tightly, all but seeing stars, trying to force down a moan. He managed, but the way his cock twitched inside Daniel, hips stuttering against his, pushing deeper, desperate for more, probably gave him away.

He found he particularly didn't care.

"God, you feel just as good as you smell," he murmured once their hips were flush together. Briefly, distantly, he wondered if Daniel's body had allowed him the fabled G-spot, too, and in response to that thought, almost reflexively, he ground his hips against his, hoping to find it. He wasn't sure if he would, and -- didn't care much about that, either, as the thought evaporated as quickly as it came. He didn't know how Daniel felt, but God, that friction on top of being balls-deep in him was good for him. This had been a fucking fantastic idea.

Breathing out shakily, he moved for another hard, hungry kiss, using it, oddly, to reorient himself. When he'd managed, he pulled away bodily, forehead coming to rest against Daniel's, hips withdrawing slowly only to pound back into him a moment later. He made a soft noise, arms looping all at once around Daniel's waist, fingers biting in where ever they could find purchase, and after a moment he slid away from him again only to dive back in greedily. What followed could only be described as fucking, truly, Dylan's pace relentless, needy, powerful. Daniel wanted to be fucked until he couldn't breathe? He was going to get exactly that.

Sex as a guy was amazing. Daniel loved sex, and he found it amazingly awesome. Sex as a woman though was so fucking insane. It was like wild and different, intense in ways he didn't even think he'd ever find words for. Why women weren't out doing this all the fucking time was beyond him because he was pretty sure he wouldn't stop having sex if it felt that good. Year of studying for the Eye would have probably been gone to just have wild sex all the time.

Of course, that was the male mind experiencing nerve endings, and a friction nothing like he'd ever known. That sensation of being full, and held tight. It was being needed for anothers pleasure and it was all part of everything Danny wanted.

Arching as he pressed his shoulders back to the wall, wanting to feel the hard lines of Dylan's body against him, the rub of flesh on his nipples, moaning as he felt the sharp bite of fingers, and the way his entire body felt stretched out over Dylan's cock.

Gasping, shuddering, the slap of their bodies together leaving him panting so hard his chest heaved.

"Fuck. Dylan. God, yes. Fuck." The words coming out through hard kisses, and the soft panting of every breath. Nipping at Dylan's lower lip, arms moving to clutch around his shoulders, nails digging into Dylan's shoulders, clinging to him.

Shifting, writhing for more and then his eyes went wide, head jerking back again.

"Dylan!"

The pleasure was madness, nothing he'd never known. That moment right before he came, balls tightening and body tensing was like a nice bath compared to this. "Dylan. Fuck. I think..."

And then there was no thinking. He was coming, body bowing as he trembled through his first release with a cunt and feeling the sensitive flesh pulsing around the thickness within him.

Dylan pulled his mouth away when he could feel him getting close, lips moving back near his ear. Hot hard breath fluttering his hair, he murmured, "Yeah, c'mmon, break for me. I wanna feel you come."

And then he was, even if the words hadn't been an order, just growled coaxing. He hadn't needed to push him, not any more than he already had in the first place, making him woman, making him wet, fucking him, and -- oh God, speaking of balls tightening, the feel of Daniel's cunt pulsing around him was enough to make his hitch up, so close. A few more shallow thrusts followed, and then with a long, low cry, he was breaking too, spilling into him suddenly, almost jarringly.

He'd find his words in a minute. For now, he just dropped his head to Daniel's shoulder, trying to catch his breath. It was harder than it should have been, him still twitching around him. Fuck.

Dammit, had Dylan's voice always sounded that good? Had it? Daniel was pretty sure it had, and he knew after this the man was likely only going to have to look at him, or growl his name, and Daniel was going to be fucking wet as hell.

Except he wouldn't be wet. He'd be hard, straining his damn pants, and wishing that he was wet and ready to be taken.

Then that sound, Dylan making such pleased sounds, and Danny thought he was nearly going to come again. Just from that sound. No, not just that sound. From the sudden heat inside of him. Not even thinking about a condom, taking Dylan bareback and then feeling him come inside of him. That shouldn't have made Danny tighten around Dylan again, arms clutching around the other man's neck as he leaned in close to rest. Holding Dylan to him, eyes closing as he felt himself clenching again, those aftershocks nearly as delicious as the way it had felt coming the first time.

Condom wasn't really something that had crossed his mind, as much as he'd wanted to fuck him by the time he'd forced him to shift. And even if it had? Well, he probably would have dismissed the idea. Neither of them had had the patience for it. It wasn't as thought Daniel could get pregnant. He wanted to be able to fucking feel him. Take your pick. It didn't really matter.

Later, he might be glad he hadn't thought of it. Now, he was still clinging to Daniel, a groan rolling through him as Daniel continued to tremble around him. Those aftershocks were, apparently, just as good the other way around. He was pretty sure he'd be hard again in a few minutes if he kept that up, if he stayed buried in him, and he'd made no motions thus far to pull out, even as his cock softened inside him.

And speaking of. Sort of.

"You know," he started once he caught his breath. It took awhile, even if he was just reflex for what he was, right now. "I wonder if you'd be hard again if I made you change back now." Rearranging that much sensitive material was bound to have some kind of effect, right? "I might make you keep the tits, though."

He moved a hand from his back around to his side, fingers sliding up the skin there, skating over where breast extended further than his ribs. He held his hand there for a moment, fingers splaying wide as he cupped at warm, pert flesh, and then very slowly, lightly, a wicked albeit hazy grin coming to his face, he pulled his thumb over his nipple again. "They look good on you."

There was so much Daniel didn't want to think about later. Or ever. He didn't want to think about shooting the man now holding him in the aftermath of their fucking. He didn't want to think about what Dylan could do to him if with a few words he could change Daniel to having a tight cunt and beautiful breasts. He didn't want to think of any of that.

He wanted to think of how much he liked being held like this, with a broad chest against his own, and strong arms around him. He wanted to think about the way Dylan sounded, all sexed up and blissed out and talking about wanting more as if he might want to do this again. Danny liked that, liked the idea of being fucked again, even if he didn't want to think about what it was that Dylan did to him so that he could have him.

How it happened shouldn't matter. He had the life he wanted, people in his life he needed and who he wanted to be with, and now he had this. A chance to be something with Dylan, to offer himself in ways maybe others would not.

Course then Dylan commented about making him hard again, and about leaving the breasts there on his chest. Daniel snorted, rolling his eyes at him, even as he rolled his hips, grinding against the softening cock and dragging his blunt nails lightly over the back of Dylan's neck.

"So it's not the face you object to but the body? How do I even explain them to the others?"

Not arguing, mostly because he thought of it as a joke. It wasn't like they could leave them. Hell, some small part of Daniel wondered if this was madness, that he had lost his mind somewhere in shooting Dylan and seeing him still alive, and maybe none of this was real. The thought wasn't as pleasant as he might have thought it should be.

He leaned in, kissing Dylan softly. "They can't stay," he said, sounding more like himself though he knew it was likely that Dylan would argue it with him. No, not argue it. Just make it happen. It wasn't as if Danny could change things, after all. Not unless Dylan did it for him.

Dylan would have snorted if that roll of hips didn't pull another soft groan out of him. No, it wasn't the face he objected to or the body, to be honest, but -- sorry, what were they talking about again? "You're gonna make me hard again, if you keep that up."

Not that that stopped him from absently returning the favor, pressing flush against Daniel for a moment as he returned the kiss. Neither his mouth or his hips were quite as cruel, this time. If not for the fact that Daniel had tits and a cunt, if not for the fact that Dylan probably would have enjoyed the notion that he'd driven Daniel literally mad in a matter of maybe half an hour, it might have been easy to pretend this was normal and he was sane.

Not that that illusion lasted long, as at the protest, Dylan hummed, amused. "Not like you'd really have any choice. If I told you to keep them, you would." Even after the hour he'd demanded ran out. "You'd have to find a way to tie them down, to keep Neal or whoever from noticing. And whenever I wanted to, I could just ... "

He paused, working his jaw faintly as if he planned on spitting. Something far worse followed, the wet sound of flesh shifting issuing in his mouth. He parted his lips slightly, tongue now longer than it should have been lolling out of one side of his mouth, and it didn't stop there. His tongue continued to stretch, bloat, taking on life of its own as is grew into something thick and hideous and almost prehensile. He leaned a little closer to Daniel and the appendage curled around his nipple, wet and warm, tugging at it. He expected part fear, part arousal in response and that was the point. If he made Daniel keep the breasts, he could secretly get him off or at least ready to go without anyone realizing what the problem was.

Point made, his tongue pulled away abruptly, curling up to slither back into his mouth. One could only imagine it melting back into its original, normal size and shape like a bit of candy left in the mouth too long after that.

making war just for fun (for first_rule)

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