onebehind | making war just for fun (for first

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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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."

making war just for fun (for first_rule)

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