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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"Don't know," he answer, raking his tongue over his teeth. "But I can hear their heartbeat." And their footsteps and so on and so forth.

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.

Danny shifted, moving to try and grapple with his pants around his ankles and get them pulled up to where they belonged. Not that laying on his back, tits bouncing, was making that any easier.

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?"

Dylan worked idly at fixing his own pants, for how little good it would actually do, how badly they were ruined -- he'd have to have Daniel fix them properly before they left, as asked, and assuming he'd kept the magic to change one thing into another. Surely, making a ruined pair of pants a new one fell within the range of that? He paused, however, when the merchant caught them, and looked up, letting out a breath of a laugh, like someone caught doing something fairly innocent might. Oops?

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.

It was certainly within Daniel's range, and now that he was embracing more of what he could do instead of accepting the limits and boundaries this place tried to impose on them it would be much easier for him to tap into such things.

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.

When Dylan pulled away, the man had stopped struggling. He was still alive, but barely, strength having failed him, breathing shallow; even if Dylan let him go now, he'd need serious help to survive on his own. He didn't seem overly concerned by this, however. Instead, he just licked at his lips like a cat after a meal before shrugging. "I was planning on it, yeah."

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.

Daniel's gaze never went to the man. Maybe he was afraid if he looked at him, he'd feel for him, have pity, and then he would try and fight with Dylan over it. At best he would lose whatever this was between them. At worst?

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.

Dylan watched him as he worked through all that, head tipped to one side, dark eyes focused solely on him, something feral to it all. Like he was being watched by a wild cat in the dark. When Daniel decided, the look faded, and he let out a breath, the sound almost relieved, as if he'd been expecting him to tell him to stop, and then he was pulling the man back against him, fitting his mouth over the wound. It seemed no less pleasant for the man now than it had before -- probably because he'd regained some small measure of his fight when Daniel signed his death warrant.

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.

It wasn't the killing that Daniel was caught up in but rather it was Dylan. Watching him take what he wanted, being the man in charge, his Boss. It was all od that which had him staring at him, not blinking in the least. He wouldn't look away after telling him to go for it.

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?"

He hummed, pleased by Daniel's assessment and leaned into him. His own arm went around Daniel's waist, pulling him close for a quick, coppery kiss, and then as he drew away, he glanced down at his pants briefly. When he looked back up at Daniel, he seemed nothing short of amused. "Might not be a bad idea."

Nor would getting out of here afterwards, either. Unless Daniel wanted to watch him rack up a body count like a high score on a video game.

His hand slid over Dylan's chest, finding something he wanted in how easily they came together in little intimacies. It was what brought him closer, wanting to change, to accept this, to ignore the things bothering him for what they could have.

"As you wish," he said, picking them up. He balled the fabric up in his hands, focusing on the cotton of the denim. A moment later he shook out the pants, whole. "Better?"

Dylan pressed into his fingers with a sigh. Another came as Daniel had to pull away, to retrieve his pants, this one disappointed. Much as he might have wanted to, however, he didn't try to pull him back, he only watched as Daniel put his pants back together. When he finished, Dylan couldn't help but look a little impressed. Never mind the fact that he had done this to him on top of everything else, made him re-manifest the magic that he'd had the week before, it was still handy.

"Much," he agreed, reaching to take them from Daniel.

He shifted further away once they were in hand, taking care not to expose himself to the sun as he stepped back into them. When he was more or less redressed, he glanced over his shoulder briefly before turning back to Daniel. "We still planning on getting out of here?"

It would be easy to keep it up, to touch and kiss and bite on the other man as he took his time to get dressed. Just watching the way he moved, the way he shifted and moved. He did well consider pulling him close, grinding against the man's ass, even as he didn't have a dick to rub against him.

"If I'm going to have horns, I might as well have magic to help as well," he pointed out, trying to sound so much like himself before all of this.

"Yeah, we should," he said. "We should go."

"Might's well," Dylan agreed.

That said, he raked his tongue over his teeth with a note of finality, and considering the fact that his fangs retracted in the instants following, it probably made sense. The darkness bled from his eyes a moment later as he forced himself out of the vampire shift, if only for the time being. If they were leaving, well. Again with the part where he really didn't want to be on fire after such a nice day.

"Alright, c'mmon."

Watching him shift back and forth was interesting. There was just something so powerful in that. Just like knowing he had just taken a life, he realized. It was such a change and had taken so much. Yet Danny no longer had a worry he could be next. He wasn't worrying about being the next kill. He had no worries that he might die because of Dylan. Not like this. Maybe because he was going along with things. Maybe because he just didn't feel he would be the next kill. There was no reason for him to be the kill.

He had no plans of ever becoming the one that Dylan looked a that way, or letting him look at the other Horsemen in that way either.

"Lead on, Boss. It seems I'm following your lead."

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making war just for fun (for first_rule)

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