making war just for fun (for ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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.
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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That left him smiling, humming softly under his breath until he laughed, stroking those claws oh so delicately along Dylan's cheek. "Yes. All of it. Delicious," he said, smiling impishly. "It all goes together," he pointed out. "Even..."
His touch stilled, his gaze taking in those claws without being clouded by need.
"Shit," he muttered, brain finally taking over, if only for a moment.
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Dylan still outclassed him, magically -- he could be anything, do anything, and sure, Daniel may have had his hooks in him, but all it would take, if it came down to it, was a moment of clarity like he had experienced before, like he was settling back into now as Daniel moved away from the lust, and it would all end. Permanently. He'd tell Daniel to stop, to go back to being human, being weak, and the contest of wills would be over. There would be nothing he could do about it, regardless of what he wanted or didn't want or -- whatever. Then again, maybe that was his own arrogance talking. Who knew?
At the moment, it didn't matter, though. At the moment, Dylan wasn't thinking that, wasn't thinking much of anything beyond a feeling of satisfaction. One that faded around the edges as Daniel swore. He shifted a little, faintly, and looked over at him. "What?"
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"I just... I hadn't..." He reached out, touching one of the horns that curled up and against his skull. "You want me like this," he muttered softly, half asking, but also stating as if that had been obvious. It had been obvious.
He didn't think about how needy he sounded, lowering his head and pressing his brow to Dylan's collarbone. "I didn't mean to take it that far. I hadn't mean to become..." He wasn't even sure the word for what he was, just that he had become something that was willing to feed from another, one that had hurt Dylan because he liked how it felt.
"I hadn't meant to lose control like this," he said, apologizing in his own words, feeling it was like when he'd asked Dylan if he was really him. Daniel had lost control and might have ruined things, and that scared him. He fucked up things in his life when they were good, and he didn't want to fuck this up. He wanted this.
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Like he'd picked the (could he really call it) manscaping as far as his cunt went.
"But it's fine, it's -- it was good." All of it. The feeding, the claws, the fact that Daniel could only get off with his active participation. (And that, perhaps, was another way Dylan could win a war raged between them if it came to it. All he had to do was cut Daniel off. He'd starve to death. He'd do whatever he wanted just to feed, because no one else would be able to give him that.) "I can fix it, though, if you want."
Make him human again. Put some kind of limit on his powers if he wanted to keep them. Let him choose when he had the claws and fangs and horns and tits and when he didn't -- provided, of course, he wasn't fantasizing about him and his dick or on top of him. Something. Hell, he was tempted, now, to change Daniel back, regardless of what he said. He could always make him shift again later, if he really wanted to go through all that again (and he did). It would solve a lot of problems in the meantime for both of them.
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That offer though made him pause. He opened his mouth, considering what to say and then stopping himself. Part of him wanted it gone, fearing he would use it on others. If it made Dylan want him though...
"What do you want?" He asked, knowing where he was putting himself and the way he sounded. No sarcasm, no smart ass comments. Wanting to know what it was Dylan wanted. He wasn't going to push him to walking out again. "Though... the tits..." He loved them and wasn't sure why that bothered him and not the rest. Except for one thing. "It's going to mean relearning every card trick I know." It changed his balance and the flow of his arms, after all.
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"Tell you what," he started, a swell of power already beggining in his voice. Never mind how he phrased it, Daniel would obey. "Why don't you keep the whole demon look for now?" The horns, the claws, the little chips of fangs, and especially those eyes. Not that he had any problems with the way he looked normally, just -- well. Even if how he looked now wasn't his specifically his doing, he couldn't say it wasn't a turn on, especially the way he looked at him like that. "You can figure out the card thing. It'll give you something to do."
He would keep the terrible, wild magic, too -- what Teleios had given him, what he'd gotten back the first time he'd tried to get himself off -- and while Dylan didn't say as much, he pushed that at Daniel silently. He didn't know if it would work, per se, but he figured that if he could make him change without him hearing him, he could give him that without saying anything. He hoped Daniel used it again, purposefully or otherwise, to hurt someone. He also pushed the thought that that magic could never be used against him at him.
"Keep the hunger that comes with it, too," he continued after a moment, wetting his lips. This was said aloud, despite what Daniel's reaction would be, if only to make sure it stuck. "You can get yourself off again without me, but it won't do anything to satisfy that. You need to eat, you're gonna have to come find me, fuck me. No one else is gonna be able to get you as hard or as wet or whatever as I do, no one else is gonna cut it, and if you try screwing someone else, you're gonna kill them when you try and feed, and it's not gonna do jack for you."
It wouldn't matter what shift Dylan was in, if he was himself, if he was disguised as someone or something else, all that would matter was that it was him. His body would know. That unslakeable lust he was leaving him with would know. That way, if Henley came back, Daniel wouldn't run off with her forever. That way, he couldn't abandon him or, assuming they did have some sort of falling out and Daniel tried to act against him, he would, in fact, be sacrificing his meal ticket in turning against him. Daniel, it seemed, wasn't the only jealous one -- or the only egotistical one there.
"Otherwise," he dropped his eyes, staring down at the tits with a frown. Oh, but he wanted Daniel to keep them, but -- well. He should probably conceed something. It was only fair, however barely fair any of this actually was. "Otherwise, for the most part, I'll let you decide what you're doing as far as the tits and what's between your legs go. You can go back and forth between your dick and this whenever you want without me. I've got final say, though. If I wanna screw and I want this -- " He shifted a little underneathe Daniel and intentionally so, all but writhing to draw attention to the swell of his breasts, that still wet pussy. As if Daniel needed the reminder. " -- you'll give me this."
Where ever and when ever he wanted, even if that meant in public. Even if that meant everyone watching him as his dick pushed in on itself and his chest filled out.
"I've got final say, period," he finished, glancing back up at him. "I tell you to stop, you stop. I tell you to keep going, you keep going." This was more than about the sex, too. This was about making sure his magic still had weight, that Daniel couldn't, would never be able to fight it. If he told him to go kill himself (or go kill someone else), he would. Not that he imagined it'd come to that, seeing as how he still wanted Daniel and he figured that his urges would drive him to madness, to hurt someone all on his own without him eventually, but he wanted to make that perfectly clear. Daniel was as much a slave to him, still, as he might occasionally be to him, to the lust he bled into him.
"Sound good?" A beat. "And if I'm missing something here, let me know." He wanted to make sure he had all his bases covered and in his own favor, after all. No loopholes.
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No, he had to admit to himself the truth. If only for himself. It was the best sex of his life, and he wanted more of it. Anything to keep feeling like that.
The magic spun around him, taking hold of his mind and body. There was no physical shift, but he could almost feel the changes taking hold. He would be seen by all with horns, with claws that could tear through flesh. With eyes that showed how inhuman he was becoming, if not already was. Something in that though didn't bother Daniel. Such a look was a power of its own, even if others didn't know how or why, what he could do, he had the look of a more powerful being. Not as powerful as Dylan, likely never that powerful, but there was something delightful in this. He was able to heal. He was able to kill if he chose. He was wild and dangerous and more than he had been.
He was also likely going to shred a few descks before he got a handle on it and likely going to hurt himself with those claws, but that was the price to pay for how he looked.
"I'll practice with the cards," he said, the first words he'd said since Dylan's proclamation. Maybe it was worrying he'd say the wrong thing. Maybe it was not wanting to make the wrong smart ass comment and end up laying on his ass, aching and wet still and alone. He really hated that idea.
Yet Dylan went on and Daniel whined, a sharp, pitiful sound. "And you'll be there for me?" he asked, his voice as sharp sounding as the whine. "You know my throat is yours," he said, as if offering his own feeding meant that Dylan would be there for his own. "You know I'll make it good for you, Boss. You know that," he insisted, trying to make sure this wasn't going to be used against him. Though he was sure it would be. It was like information, another form of control, and if Daniel had been Dylan, he would have done the same for to him. Pushed it and played with him, wanting to see just what he would do.
He paused though at that look, the frown. Danny reached for Dylan's hand, bringing it to his breast. "If you ask, I'll keep them," he said, putting it on Dylan, showing that it was for him and not for anything Daniel himself wanted. Yet he wanted to hear Dylan say it, to know that he wanted it. If it made Daniel special to Dylan, he would do it, even if he wouldn't beg and plead to hear it. At least not openly, even if he asked it in a million different ways.
Moaning as Dylan moved, rocking back against him once more. Magic and desire warred in his head, wanting to slide down and suck Dylan off, to ride him again until someone turned the hose on them. Yet he'd been told, backed by magic and so he just wriggled, enjoying the sensation of Dylan's body against his own.
"I answer to you, Boss," he said softly, staring into his eyes. "You had that before this and that doesn't change."
Dylan was the leader of the Horsemen. Sex and a change in magic didn't change that in Daniel's mind.
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He made a soft noise, thoughts starting to slip again as Daniel brought his hand to his breast. His thumb drug over the sensitive, still hard nipple there, part honest desire, part already playing, knowing that Daniel couldn't do anything about it any more than he could mount him again at the roll of his hips, because he had told him enough. Enough for now. Thankfully, he didn't keep the teasing up long, though he did keep his hand at Daniel's tit, fingers splayed out over it, palm flush against his nipple.
"It's up to you," he told him despite that, despite the fact that a part of him did, in fact, want him to keep them. A part of him also wanted to see what Daniel would do, if anything, with the ability to change himself physically, however minutely, too, however. A part of him was already thinking about letting Daniel get hard for him, letting him keep that, next time, shifting himself so that Daniel could fuck him, so he could see if being tight and wet and aching for fullness was as good as Daniel made it look. Tits would get in the way of that, wouldn't they? Or maybe, maybe it would make it better, Daniel's cock in him and his nipples dragging against his own as his own, temporary rack grew out. Maybe --
"Up to you," he repeated, struggling to get a handle on himself before he got hard again. His magic might have worked on Daniel to keep him at bay; a shame he couldn't truly order himself around in the same way. Thankfully, he managed without and with a slow breath out.
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Arching into that touch, liking his tits when Dylan touched them, showed appreciation for them, and that touch was more than enough to make him calm, enjoy the way his hand felt, palming his breast. It was good, comforting in a way, and let him relax instead of trying to fight the magic and let himself give in to it.
"Funny, I keep telling you otherwise," he noted, but he seemed content with that happy, glad to hear that it was his choice and he could handle it, or not, as he wished. He needed to work out why he was okay with the pussy but the tits made him second guess things, but that could be the visibility. He didn't want to think on it too hard. Though should it ever come to a cock and fucking Dylan with his own tits and Dylan's legs open for him... that could all change. In so many ways.
He pressed soft kisses to Dylan's jaw, rubbing his cheek there against the stubble with a sigh.
"Also, with all the other firsts you've been in my life, in an open air market is a new one," he said, trying to make things a joke, being snarky and light hearted about it. Given he had horns and claws, and was commenting on that, he was trying to sound like himself.
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Was he trying to make Daniel jealous? Not particularly. If that was the end result, though, he probably wouldn't complain too much. Daniel wanted to feel needed? So did he, even if he was much quieter about it. Merritt hadn't been wrong when he'd told Alma he had abandonment issues, and of all the things that had changed in the last few days, that wasn't one of them.
"We should probably get outta here sooner rather than later, though." Never mind the fact that his clothing was just as ruined now as Daniel's had been the other night -- or the fact that he wasn't terribly keen on moving. He was less thrilled by the idea of someone finding them, his dick hanging out, Daniel's tits out, both of them looking very much like the monsters they were beyond. All the screaming that he figured would follow would be nothing short of annoying.
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"On the hook of a car, hmm? Would be a shame if something like that happened here and then someone else came along behind you and fucked them to death. Would be horrible," he said, entirely cold and deadpan, not even trying to hide a possibility that jealousy was there. Yet Danny was a monster, for Dylan's desires. He had chased away the love of his life. He then lost her to this place. Unless the city ripped Dylan from him, he wasn't playing nice against loss again.
"Is that an order?" he asked, knowing it wasn't, but showing his reluctance to move. "You make a rather comfortable bed. Who would have thought."
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Never mind the fact that he knew there was a garage here, somewhere, and that asshole Dean Winchester had a car in it. He punctuated that statement, regardless, by moving the hand at his breast into his hair, fingers trailing through it. If he caught the edges of Daniel's horns in the process, well, that might have been the point.
"More like a suggestion," he answered, when he'd pulled his hand away again. "Either that or you get to see why I told you not to fight me when I fed on you the first time." He'd attack whoever happened to stumble upon them, feed on them, and if they fought back, when they did? The sensation wasn't quite as pleasurable like that. On the contrary, in fact, it was hell.
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He wasn't sure if he would kill them without the sex, or would just do it for the feeding and screw the sex. It was for feedings unless it was Dylan. It was how he felt right then.
He smiled though at that second part. "Well then, find us a car," he said, giving him a playful look. "I'm sure there's some around here somewhere," he pointed out. He hadn't looked for one but it was likely to be out there. Somewhere.
Moaning softly as Dylan's fingers brushed his horns, liking that touch as well. Just having him caress him like that, give him attention, it did a lot for him. More than he thought it should be just having someone touching him, being near him. He loved just being near him more than he had thought he might another person after losing Henley as he had.
That was interesting, and he couldn't help being curious about it. "Maybe I'd want to see that," he admitted. "Maybe I like the idea."
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"If you're so interested in watching me destroy someone, though." Well, that could be arranged far more easily. And likely with less jealousy on both their parts. And he probably could stand to eat, after all the healing he'd had to do to keep up with Daniel.
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He grinned at that. "Why does it sounded romantic to think you would destroy someone for me?"
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"Well," he started instead as he pulled away, head tilting lightly to one side, "you might get your chance here in a minute to decide whether or not it's romantic." Sounded to him like someone was coming. Whether or not whoever it was stumbled upon them, though, that could go either way.
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Daniel frowned, shifting to one side. "What? Who is it?" Maybe a merchant. Maybe it was nothing at all. "Should we go?" Not that Dylan had whole clothes, and Daniel wasn't sure if he hadn't destroyed his in playing with himself.
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At any rate, that in mind, he shifted faintly, looking back up at Daniel. "Well, either you fix our clothes and we get out of here, or there's probably gonna be a lot of screaming in or future." When the guy saw them, when he tore his throat out with his teeth, whatever.
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It might gave offered a fairly decent view though when the merchant whose booth they were laying next to returned.
"What the hell!? This isn't a damned whorehouse, and a man's been hurt. What the hell?"
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He let another second or two tick by after that, waiting for the man to notice his eyes, still black, or Daniel's. Daniel's horns and claws. The fact that he was very obviously a man with a nice rack and a pussy. Whatever. Then, when that realization seemed to set in, when he took a step backwards, Dylan was on his feet at all once. He was behind him a moment after that, arms around him but no where near as intimately as he'd done with Daniel the night before, the first time he'd fed on him, and grinning toothily, he ordered, "Try and fight back."
Not that the man particularly needed prompting, already struggling against him. Not that it did him any good for all of Dylan's strength. Dylan let him try for all of a heartbeat all the same, however, before his fangs were buried in his throat. If the man could have screamed, he probably would have. As it was, his face was a mask of pain and terror, breathy agonized sounds slipping out of him in the wake of shouting. Clearly, Dylan hadn't been kidding when he'd promised it would hurt when the blood was taken unwillingly.
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Daniel was even considering such, if his smirk while watching Dylan was any indication. The smile fell though when the man came around the corner, all anger and condemnation.
His breath caught in his lungs, watching all that was going on. Watching the way that the man fought, the look on Dylan's face. Moving to his feet, casual as could be, Daniel pulled up his pants, watching the entire scene with curiosity but not fear. If Dylan had wanted to hurt him, he'd had more than one chance at it.
That wouldn't save this other man though.
Daniel watched, stunned, panting and confused. It was sexy and scary at the same time. It was such a show of power, so dominant and it left him with a hand pressed to his stomach and making sounds as if trying to speak. Finally he found words.
"You're... are you going to kill him," he asked, knowing the man could hear him.
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He wanted to know what it was like, drinking from someone until they died. The closest he'd gotten on that front was with Jack, a few days ago, when he was still out of his mind, and if that was any indication, he had a feeling it would be good. Better than having to stop before he hurt someone.
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He knew he could end up dead on the ground beside the man.
"Do what you want to do," he murmured, hearing the threadiness, the crack of his own voice. Danny cleared his throat, smoothing down his tee shirt that ended a couple of inches above his waistband because of the heavy swell of his breasts.
"Do what you want, Dylan. I vowed to stand by you in New York, this won't change that." Had it been Jack, Henley... even Merritt, maybe his words would be different, but he was pledged to the Horsemen, and that was where he would stand.
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When Dylan pulled away again, the man was obviously dead, and unceremoniously, he dropped him, raking his tongue over his teeth. He staggered back to Daniel at once, seeming high almost, and really, that probably wasn't all that far off the mark. Feeding until death, tasting that little spark of light, of life as it went out, was, apparently, just as good as he'd hoped. He could see why some vampires, real vampires seemed almost addicted to murder.
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His gaze stayed on Dylan, stepping in as the body fell, his hand sliding along Dylan's waist. "You're positively terrifying," he said, his voice soft and filled with some sort of emotion that had nothing to do with fear. Not in the least.
"Also, would you like your pants back?"
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