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 hummed, amused, and grinned sharply. There were no fangs, not like last time, with Daniel or Jack, either or, but there was still something off to the expression. He couldn't quite help himself, no matter how much he did or didn't want to keep up appearances.

"Yeah, I'm not sure how far that would've gotten you." For more than just there not being a whole lot in the way of television here.

He knew it could go so bad, and he was taking chances but he wasn't willing to turn his back on this and walk away. He didn't want to lose Dylan or the Horsemen. He wasn't willing to lose what he had.

"Oh I would be expecting the explosion, literally or figuratively, but we'll see what I have to do," he said with a grin.

"I meant more in a 'this place doesn't exactly get the Disney Channel' sort of way than one of us hurting you for trying the whole movie with a moral thing."

Though, an explosion might be fun. Not at the brownstone, of course -- he knew better to shit where you slept -- but maybe, if and when he found Samuel and Bailey, he'd take over their work. Maybe he could get it to work right and get them home. He still wanted to be there, rather than here, despite his sudden and rather permanent change of heart, and -- oh. Oh, the things he could do, back home, like this.

"Oh well. I'll get someone to put on a puppet show for you. Punch and Judy. Sure that will help," he said with a smirk. Never let it be said that Daniel didn't have an answer. Except when Dylan had gone totally crazy. Then the answer had been illusions and to run. Now though he knew he couldn't rely on that. He couldn't rely on not being there for Jack and the Horsemen.

"So where do we take this now, Boss?" Everything was okay. It was normal. It was back to what it was supposed to be. Right? He'd keep telling himself that.

Dylan snorted, another brief, sharp grin coming to his face before it disappeared a moment later at the question. "Now, we figure out how to get home. Maybe destroy the Agents on the way out. All of it for real, now, though, no more just -- just talking about it."

Yeah, that grin. It really needed to go. Or Daniel wishes they had seen it sooner, if that was the way he looked at people he had done a damn good way of hiding it before now.

"Okay." He couldn't argue. He wanted their lives back. "You got a plan in place for this?"

"Not yet," he answered, raking his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. "But I'm sure I'll come up with something, and if not ... " He shrugged. "I'm not sure it matters much. They have no idea how much power I have, right now. How much power they let me keep."

Worse came to worst, he'd just tell the Agents to swallow a handful of razor blades, and keep torturing them until someone with a higher pay grade showed up. Like the Emissaries -- he wouldn't mind torturing that bitch Roxanna for awhile, for kicks. The the Two themselves.

That was again worrying. He knew that things had changed, and he knew that he hadn't kept the ability. Not like he'd had before. A little here and there to transform, but not enough to use it if they needed it. He had to work hard to try and keep things settled, to keep them balanced.

"And we still don't know just how much they have either, Dylan. We may have only seen a glimpse of it. I don't want to see you hurt by them," he said, meaning it as he took a step closer. "Maybe that's what we need to find out first. Just how strong they are."

"I'm kind of hard to kill, anymore." He could be anything, after all. Something with a healing factor -- maybe even an Agent, himself. Never mind the fact that that hadn't stopped Loki from killing Odin. He could at least put himself on their level, if he really wanted to. "But yeah, alright, we test the waters first."

Which would be easy. One word in any ear and he could have whoever throw themselves at the Agents for his assessment.

"Even by these guys?" He didn't believe they were gods. That was what he kept telling himself. He didn't want to believe it could be real since he hadn't believed in god for a lot of years and wasn't ready to believe in a lot of them. "Even if they..." He shook his head, not even sure he wanted to know what they had done to him. "Listen, it's not worth the chance," he pointed out. "We want you here. We ... We need you, okay?"

Damn but emotions were still hard, and likely always would be.

Dylan frowned at him for a long moment -- he'd already told him he'd be careful, what more did he want from him? -- and then held up a hand, indicating that he needed a minute. That done, he disappeared from the room briefly, only to return with his gun a moment later, the weapon held down, pointed at the floor rather than Daniel. If he wanted to threaten him, it wouldn't be with a weapon. This was to be a demonstration rather than anything else.

That in mind, butt-first, he held the gun out to him. "Shoot me."

It wasn't a command backed by power, not yet. If Daniel refused, maybe then it would be, but first, he'd give him the option to go along with it.

The moment Dylan had him wait, leaving the room, Daniel honestly wondered ifhe would come back to the room. When he did, despite knowing how many other ways Dylarn had of hurting him, he still tensed. It took everything in him not to back up a step, then another.

His gaze dropped to the gun and back up.

"Uhmmm, no. I get it. You can stop the bullet. I believe that without shooting you," he said, shaking his head. "And I'm a magician and human for all I know. They're possible gods, Dylan, and I'm not sure I believe they're leaving you with the ability to stop them. It would be madness on their part. You're smarter and quicker than they are."

Compliments. That would help, right?

Not as much as Daniel thought it would, if only because Dylan saw through them.

"I went to one of the guys playing the other side," he told him, despite that, despite the scowl that had crept onto his face at the thought of Daniel trying to play him. "So, I'm pretty sure I'll get to keep what I've got, if only because they wanna see this place burn just as much as I do."

A beat. "It also has nothing to do with whether or not I can stop a bullet." Though, all things considered, he probably could if he chose his shift carefully. "It's more about -- well, shoot me and find out. Aim for the head."

This time, he did put power into his voice. This time, Daniel would do what he said without question or hesitation, whether he wanted to or not, and there was something intensely satisfying about that. Even if he planned on keeping the Horsemen close, now, there was something to be said for making someone else's body betray them, regardless of who they were.

Knowing logically that Dylan was strong, magically powerful, and knowing that he was somehow capable of not merely some sort of mesmer ability but to speak like that and despite all of Daniel's desire to do anything but, he found himself already reaching for the gun.

"Dylan, don't make me do this," he said, fingers curling around the stock and drawing the gun to him so he could check the safety, ensure it was off. "I believe you, okay? You are immortal, indestructible. Whatever it is. I believe you."

He spoke in earnest, panic creeping into his tones, even as he raised the gun, leveling it to stare down the site.

"I don't care if you can live through this! Don't make me do it."

Living through it or not, Daniel was going to have nightmares about shooting the man he looked up to, the first role model he could remember truly respecting in his lifetime.

He fired.

Dylan said nothing, just watched him expectantly and with no small amount of pleasure, despite the fact that he doubted being shot in the head would be fun. Just because he could survive being shot didn't mean it wouldn't hurt, though again, there was something to be said for watching Daniel struggle with it. That made it worth it.

He was all but smirking when the gun finally went off, in fact, and then, obviously, abruptly, the expression disappeared. With little more than a grunt, he fell backwards, the thud as he hit the ground more resounding than the gun going off, somehow, and enough to knock the breath out of him if he'd needed to breath. If he wasn't, for all intents and purposes, dead, if only for a moment.

A beat or two ticked by, the silence that followed absolute, and then all at once, he was sitting up as quickly as he had fallen. He exhaled heavily, through his teeth, his canines fangs now, and reached up to thumb idly at his forehead where the bullet was pushing its way out of his skin. It was an inconvenience, itching as it healed, and nothing more. The look on his face probably said that, too, if Daniel wasn't too distracted by the fact that his eyes were blood-black, now, when he looked up at him.

"See?"

Daniel screamed. He wasn't sure he had screamed, but he did. He had expected Dylan to stop the bullet, and while he had, it wasn't supposed to have been with his face!

Shaking so hard his teeth was chattering, he dropped the gun be cause he was no longer under orders to hold it.

"Fuck you! Fuck you, Dylan, or Shrike, or whoever the hell you are. Fuck you!"

He had just killed a man. Sure he was sitting up and flicking the bullet that had done it away with the nonchalance as one would a piece of lint, but Daniel had shot him and killed him and he was a lot of things but not this. He wasn't a fucking killer.

"I see you're acting like a fucking psycho," he said, not thinking about his words or the danger they put him in. "What the fuck was that for? So you're goddamn immortal. Woohooo," he mocked, waving about jazz hands. "You had to make me a goddamn killer to prove it?!"

"You're not a killer if it doesn't stick," Dylan answered with a roll of his eyes. A swipe of his tongue over one of his fangs followed, the faintest of shivers following that -- that felt good, Daniel smelled good -- and then, fairly simply, he continued with, "So calm the fuck down."

Again, it wasn't a command. Yet. If Daniel kept carrying on, or when he decided he wanted to find out what his blood tasted like, then it would be.

He snorted, not looking at all convinced at that. "Calm the fuck down?" He rolled his eyes, folding his arms over his chest as if that would protect him from being ordered to do such as that again. "Really? What reaction were you expecting when the man I look up to, the one I look to for the first time in my life makes me shoot him? Do tell me the proper reaction?" He asked, giving him a look.

He was hiding fear in anger and sarcasm and doing it poorly.

Dylan recognized that Daniel was afraid, didn't really care, except for maybe what it was doing for him, how much more appealing it was making his scent. What he did care about was the fact that Daniel was talking back to him, and if the growl that issued from his throat was any indication, low and unmistakably inhuman, he didn't like it much.

"I said calm down," he repeated through bared teeth, wrapping power around each and every word so that Daniel would. He moved to get to his feet, fluid, frightening. "You can still be afraid -- actually, keep that up, you're doing good -- but just stand still and shut up for a few minutes."

That said, he moved towards him, circling him like a shark might circle a wounded animal. He wanted to savor the fear he had allowed Daniel to keep, even if he had stripped him of the ability to express it.

The growl made Daniel's heart race, peaking in a way that made him worry he was going to lose consciousness. He was pretty sure that would be a bad idea, mostly because he wasn't entirely certain that if it happened, he would ever wake up.

And he did, because he had no choice. Holding still, shaking but unable to do more than that. Caught up in that spell, the magic that held him still despite the raging that went on in his head, the pain and panic that coursed through him.

He stayed still, chin up, not moving though he almost wanted to flee. He was almost glad that Dylan had done something to stop him from doing just that.

"What do you want?"

"Would it be too over the top to go all Bela Lugosi on you?" he asked in lieu of an answer. You know. I vant to suck your blood. Never mind the fact that Lugosi himself had never said that, it was the principle of the thing. He figured Daniel would catch his meaning -- he was a smart kid, when he wasn't running his yap.

And if he couldn't figure it out from just that? Well, Dylan was more than willing to give him a hint.

Pausing in his circle, he stepped up behind him, one hand coming to rest against his stomach, to jerk him sharply back against his chest. A small, pleased sound followed as, this close, it occurred to him that he and Daniel were nearly the same height and he wouldn't have to get clever to reach his throat, and then he was leaning in, nose pressing into the line of his neck. He took a deep breath, practically purred, and murmured, "God, you smell good."

If there was a hint of fangs after that, a ghost of pinpricks dragged over his skin but not a bite, not yet, if this all seemed overtly, disturbingly sexual, despite the old Dylan's usual vaguely homophobic attitude, well. It was part an effort to make Daniel even more uncomfortable, part just another sign of how far he had truly fallen, very little concern for much, including his sexuality, and part the addict in him talking. Where before he might have craved booze, though, right now, he wanted his blood and badly. He held back, though, seeking Daniel's reaction first, even if he was all but trembling with need, now.

No, there was no need for explanations for those words. Not in the least. Not after Daniel had seen that flash of fangs, felt that control that Dylan had exerted over him. Daniel had read enough books, seen enough horror, to know whwere this was going with that damn shark circling because he caught a whiff of blood in the water, and Daniel knew already it was his blood that would end up being spilled.

Okay, and after shooting Dylan in the head, life just got one hundred and ten percent weirder as Dylan's hand ran along his stomach, pulling him back. His mind was racing, thinking of a million ways to get himself out of this and try and get Dylan to back off.

While his body was reflecting on entirely different things. Like the skills he knew those hands possessed, the solid feel of a body larger than his own against him. He felt a stirring and it was almost like a slap to the face, stunning him even as he squirmed, moving to almost try and put imperceptible space between them without upsetting Dylan. Again.

"Okay, Dylan..."

Words, he forgot them then, which was really doing well on Dylan's part, but what the hell was he supposed to say when Dylan said that, sounding like that, and there was this part of Daniel that wanted to give him. He wanted to lean back and can't his head, and if Dylan was giving him this kind of special attention, he was all for going along with it. What was a little blood shared between friends, after all?

Wait, blood. And those were fangs. The dragged over his skin, almost like nails, and it actually felt good. God, but that felt good.

Except it was Dylan. Dylan who would have probably shot himself than cuddling up to Daniel and giving him even the time of day from this close. Dylan who obviously didn't know what the hell he was doing and if Daniel was going to be his friend and teammate, he needed to put a stop to this.

"Dylan, listen. Seriously. I know I'm irrisistable, and really I saw this coming a mile away but, really, I'm not your type and we both know it." Yeah, that was letting him down easy and might not involve violence, right? God, he hoped so.

"I got an idea. Lets get out, get something to eat. Forget the shooting, forget you're spooning me standing up. How about it?"

"Doesn't matter, right now," he answered distantly, distracted by the smell of his blood under his skin, the sound of his heart thrumming along with more than just fear, now. "Doesn't really matter at all anymore. And I'm guessing it doesn't really matter to you, either, if it ever did. You're in to this."

And that pleased some small part of him, the ego under the madness. He slid his hand a little further down his stomach, that in mind, to get more of a reaction.

"But -- yeah. I'm gonna have something to eat." He paused, poking at a fang with his tongue, wet ghosting over Daniel's throat unintentionally with the action. "Just relax while I do it. Don't fight me. I want this to be good for both of us and I won't take enough to kill you. Just -- need enough to take the edge off."

There was power in those words. An order. He wanted Daniel to stand still, without question. It would be better if he did, almost orgasmic. If he tried to fight him? Well, that was when things would get painful, like having part of yourself torn out through your throat. As fun as that might be, later, right now he was far more interested in winding Daniel up in other ways. His "type" or not.

And that said, knowing Daniel would obey, he nudged his head to one side sharply with his nose, buried his face in his throat and bit down. Something that could only be described as a moan followed. Yeah. He definitely tasted as good as he smelled.

Words and actions. They were his enemy right now and what had him so wound up and his body pulling one direction and his mind the other. Daniel never talked about his own thoughts, his sexuality. He was Henleycentric and the world knew it and that was all that mattered. Or at least the Horsemen knew it and that was what mattered. They mattered.

That didn't stop him from reacting, hips moving before he could even catch himself, wanting more, wanting something to ease that stirring that was turning into much more and wanting to even ask for it.

Yet he didn't, his mind catching on reality, on the truth as he thought he knew it, on words. Right now It didn't matter right now. But it would. it would matter to Dylan, and Daniel would ignore if it mattered to him and it would bring hell reigning down on them. He didn't want to ruin what the Horsemen had just because Dylan was going all Fifty Shades of Anne Rice had Daniel found himself more than into it.

Then tongue and dammit, but he was pretty sure that whining sound was him. Fuck, but that was not helping his case. Not in the least. Not that it mattered. Those words went to his brain, eyes partially closing as Daniel relaxed back against Dylan.

Before, with the gun, he had been against it, fighting it. Now though his body wanted it, no matter what the hell his mind thought it was objecting to. Who needed to listen to logic anyways, right? Daniel's body sure as hell didn't, giving into that command with a sigh. "It'll be good," he murmured, endorphins rushing through him, body shifting, pressing back closer to Dylan.

Canting his head, offering his throat at that nudge, and then...

It wasn't anything he could have expected, and if Daniel had known it would be that good, he likely would have offered. His knees went weak, reaching back and fingers catching at fabric, holding himself up and arching against Dylan's touch in the same moment. Trembling as pleasure coursed through him, leaving the magician panting softly, eyes hooded and nearly closed as he made another soft, whimpering sound.

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?"

making war just for fun (for first_rule)

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