dadyl | 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

[ Creative. Daryl would argue that if there's one thing he's never been, it's creative. Or imaginative. What he is, however, is a resourceful problem-solver, though even that has only gone so far. Getting Gabe to shower, to get undressed and now dressed again. It's only bought them a stay.

But maybe that's all they can hope for. ]

I won't.

[ Daryl is aware of what he's promising but the alternative is just as unacceptable. More. He knows what it means to refuse to beg. To kneel to someone. If Negan hadn't enjoyed playing with him so much, enjoyed repeatedly trying to break an unbreakable thing, it would certainly have gotten Daryl killed.

He'd survived it only because he had help. People who saved him from that. ]

Alright. C'mon.

[ He doesn't want anyone else to see the two of them like this so Daryl reaches out to touch a guiding palm to the center of Gabe's back and when they leave the bathroom, Daryl heads straight to his own room. He doesn't like being cooped up in here, but it's easier when it's the best choice for someone else. ]

Sit on the bed.

[ It's where Daryl sits, too. If Gabe had his faculties, if he could handle himself better right now, Daryl might have tried to find a way to give Gabe commands outside the hotel - exploring the perimeter of the land they're confined to, rebuilding with the others, maybe, just to have something to do. But whatever is happening to Gabe doesn't leave them with a lot of options.

Daryl doubles over to start to take off his boots and stops. ]

Can you... unlace these for me?

[ He nudges Gabe's foot with his own. He doesn't want to actually have to say boots out loud to him but Daryl is grasping at straws. ]

[ Gabe moves slowly, deliberately. He hates groping around in the dark but when his tech's on the outs, he has to make do. Right now, he doesn't have a cane and so he gets it done what what he's got. Most of the hotel rooms have the same general layout, anyway. He bumps his knee against the bed so he knows where it is, and then he sits down. Only then does he allow himself to breathe. He knows where he is in the room, at least. Somewhat. He's not groping around in the dark.

Breathe. Survive, sniper.

He tips his head back, then exhales. The request sends something warm curling through his chest. And isn't that strange, that both obeying and refusing send heat twisting through him? Only one sensation might just kill him and the other just feels -

Good.

Gabe twitches. ]

Yeah.

[ He kneels down silently, running his hand down Daryl's boot so he can find the laces, and then does what he's told. Simply, efficiently, he gets them unlaced. ]

[ Daryl doesn't like that he gets off the bed to kneel but he doesn't tell him to stop. Maybe it helps whatever is happening, or maybe it's just easier for Gabe to reach. He doesn't know and he doesn't ask. He just watches in silence, expression stony. ]

Now take 'em off, I guess.

[ It feels so strange to ask things like this of another person. He would never ask someone for help doing things he's perfectly capable of doing himself, that it would in any way make him look weak for needing assistance with, but he's flying from command to command and trying not to second-guess himself.

But it does feel good to get his boots off and he sighs a little, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees. ]

Now yours. I know they ain't really laced. But take 'em off, too.

[ Like before, Gabe works in silence. He thinks of all the times he's helped a teammate out of their armor after a job. How he had to help Prior with everything after that one time things got really bad, how little brother clung to him with broken fingers and his back raw from the whipping. How Prior couldn't sleep unless Gabe laid at his back and even then, he shook with nightmares.

That was a bad time. But it passed. This will, too.

Gabe tips his head back. There's a moment where he doesn't move, where he fights just for the sake of it.

His head throbs. The sick feeling returns. And he twitches, and does what he's told. He tugs his boots off. Left, then right. He

He stays down on his knees. He hates that it feels right like that. ]

Now what?

[ Like before, his voice is very soft. ]

I don't like you down there.

[ It comes out sounding more lost than displeased and Daryl sits back, shifting to the side a little to give Gabe the larger half of the bed. He doesn't want him to feel crowded. Daryl doesn't want him to feel as though he's getting off on this. Any of this. ]

C'mon up.

[ Even as Gabe obeys, Daryl's mind is scrambling for another command, for anything that wouldn't have made him sick to be told himself. He can't help thinking back to Negan's compound, to all the games that were played with him. He doesn't want this to be anything like that. ]

Try'n hit me.

[ It comes out before he thinks it through, just looking for anything to buy them time. ]

Not real hard, or anythin'. But try.

[ What's there to say about that, about any of this? Neither of them like it. Gabe's hard-pressed to say which of them has the worst deal, in truth. The thought of it makes him sick whenever he lets himself consider it for longer than a moment, so he tries not to. But that's Hell's doing, he supposes. None of this was ever going to be gentle.

He sits back down on the bed. Lays his hands flat on his knees. And then the next order.

Gabe tips his head back. He can hear Daryl's voice, the way the bed shifts under his weight, but there are limitations to that. A whole lot of guesswork. He works his jaw. Then he turns and aims a blow for Daryl's chest. Center mass. Not enough to hurt, but enough to feel if he manages to land it. ]

[ Daryl sees it coming and even though he isn't the quickest guy, it's pretty easy for him to knock the blow out of the way and deflect it onto his arm. It hurts a lot less there, even though it clearly wasn't meant to hurt much at all.

The contact at least reminds Daryl that they have options, though. They aren't at the end of the rope yet. ]

Try harder.

[ He hopes that this is better than nothing but he can't imagine that Gabe would enjoy a real sparring match now as much as he might with his faculties working properly. But it's probably better than nothing. ]

[ Gabe works his jaw. Then he swings. Jab to the throat, then to the eyes. Full speed this time. ]

[ Daryl blocks the shot to his throat in time, but Gabe is snake-quick and the second blow catches him square in the eye. Without thinking, Daryl's own fist snaps out in response and he socks Gabe in the shoulder harder than is polite. ]

Ow.

[ The guy is far from helpless. ]

Better.

[ It landed. Gabe hisses like a cat at the retaliation, even as the warm feeling returns to his chest.

Comforting. Like a balm. ]

Tell me to do it again. Just - give me a goddamn order.

[ When Gabe snaps at him, something like confidence blooms for a moment in Daryl’s chest. It feels better to be told. He can’t imagine what it must feel like for Gabe - what the compulsion must be telling him. He’d promised him he wouldn’t make him beg. ]

Alright.

[ A shift on the bed as Daryl turns one shoulder towards Gabe and brings his hands up. Fists loose but poised. ]

C’mon, then. Try’n hit me. Get a one-two in, if you can.

[ Gabe goes still, listening intently. Calcualating out the angles. More than anything, he hates groping out in the dark with no sense of where anything is. It's humiliating. A weakness an enemy will instantly use against him.

But Daryl isn't an enemy, is he?

Gabe twitches, breathing out slow to center himself. Then he strikes. One, two.

The one lands straight. The two goes wide and clips Daryl in the shoulder. ]

Goddamn it.

[ It's hissed out, a frustrated curse. ]

[ Daryl can see that this isn't much better, that any option he chooses is going to be bad, so he pushes farther. Tries to find another way. ]

That's it. Try'n pin me, if that's easier.

[ The more Gabe hits him, the more contact there is, the easier Daryl finds it to give commands. It comes out more naturally and the urge to follow Gabe's direction - give me a goddamn order - is slowly taking over. He doesn't know enough to realize that the problem could be rubbing off. ]

[ The warm feeling returns. Different from the fever, from the sickness that burrowed its way in. This time, it's -

Calm.

Gabe shifts his weight, thinking, and then he just lunges. Daryl's got the weight advantage but Gabe knows he's quick. He grabs for Daryl's shoulder and shoves him back hard, getting on top of him. And then going for his hands. ]

[ Daryl doesn't want to make it easy for him but neither does it end up being hard for Gabe to force him to the bed. The guy's strong, but it's the fact that he strikes so sharply that overwhelms Daryl. He's pushing to sit back up when Gabe climbs on top of him and forces his torso back down against the give of the mattress. He lets out a grunt, straining against the weight on top of him.

It isn't until Gabe goes for Daryl's hands that Daryl fights back properly. He bucks up hard to throw Gabe's hips off-center and he rips his hands out of the unfinished grasp Gabe had managed to get on them. ]

Not quite.

[ He grunts it and it sounds a little defensive. He's prickled by how easy that probably would have been for Gabe if he had his tech working. ]

[ It throws Gabe off balance enough that he hisses and has to throw out an arm to brace himself. He aims for the bed but ends up hitting Daryl's shoulder by accident, curling his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. It's an anchor point, a way of keeping track of Daryl while his tech refuses to fucking work. It matters.

Gabe shivers a little, chest heaving. The warm feeling comes back. Not as bad as before, but - ]

Give me another.

[ Daryl feels good under him, is the thing. Solid and real. ]

[ Daryl surges to do as he's told even as he hardens against Gabe's grip, muscles going rigid under the challenge. He scrambles for another command, for anything that can keep the two of them from getting hurt. He doesn't want to volunteer to have his ass kicked but neither does he want Gabe's head to burn up from the inside.

The longer he waits, the more his stomach seems to twist. ]

Kiss me.

[ He's still trying to think of options when his mouth settles on one for him without waiting for permission. He realizes he'd been thinking about the last time they'd been in this position and the order had just tumbled out, more growl than request. At least it's better than being punched again. ]

[ Oh, yes. Gabe hisses, tightening his grip as Daryl shifts under him. Preparing to throw him off, maybe, or flip them. He could, he's got the weight advantage. But they stay where they are, Gabe's pulse thundering, and -

Oh.

He hesitates for a moment, wavering. But -

Fuck it. He claps his hands onto Daryl's face and leans in to kiss him hard. ]

[ Daryl discovers that he doesn't like having his face grabbed like that and he jerks in Gabe's grip just before their lips crash together. His hands find Gabe's hips for purchase and cling.

It's reassuring, somehow, the brutal force of it. It reminds Daryl of what this is - survival - and that understanding makes him grunt as he kisses back.

It isn't nice. It's desperate. And the moment Gabe pulls back, Daryl rasps: ]

Again.

[ It's awkward like this, the angles off, tension thrumming through him, but Daryl puts his hands on Gabe's hips and that helps. That gives him something to focus on, the sensation of it, another anchor point.

He needs that, he thinks. Something to focus on.

Gabe hisses out a curse and rocks against Daryl. He wants it to hurt, he thinks. ]

Make me fucking feel it.

[ Then he leans in and does what he's fucking told, dragging his teeth against Daryl's lip. ]

[ The next command is easy, it spurs Daryl on even before he has the chance to pause or flag as Gabe rocks against him. He smacks him on the ass so hard that his own palm stings afterward and then Daryl rolls them, or tries to.

The kiss is rough, it's all rough, and Daryl squeezes Gabe in the same place he'd spanked him and considers doing it again. He will if he doesn't win the struggle to pin Gabe's back to the bed. ]

Pull my hair. Like last time.

[ A command he knows instantly that he would never normally have been able to vocalize and that trips Daryl up for a second or two - something is happening here, something he isn't in total control of anymore.

Shit. When had that happened? ]

[ Gabe gasps, the noise shocked out of him, and then Daryl rolls them. He goes with it, his pulse kicking up, adrenaline riding high like it's a real fight and that helps. That centers him, drives him into the moment and out of his wandering thoughts. Hard to think when you need to just react. There's another order and he goes to it without thinking, getting a handful of Daryl's hair right at the base of his skull and holding tight. And that feels good, too.

Even so, something's -

Gabe shivers. Something feels off about Daryl's voice. ]

What? Tell me.

[ Daryl almost forgets his misgivings when Gabe's fingers fist in his hair and he groans, low and dangerous, as he lets his weight settle on the other. But when he's reminded of them, a chill touches Daryl and walks its way up his spine. ]

...Somethin's wrong.

[ He knows himself well enough to know when he's being pushed. When his hand is being forced. He's felt it enough in Hell that he recognizes that something is going on, even if the feeling itself is different than the other times. ]

I shouldn't be...

[ Into this. Into the control. ]

I shouldn't like bossin' you around. Tellin' you to fight me.

[ But he's getting hard against Gabe underneath him and that's giving the truth away, even as a sick twist yanks at his stomach. ]

Or kiss me.

[ Maybe he could give him choices, Daryl thinks desperately. Maybe that could be a way around it. ]

Fuck.

[ Sometimes this stuff echoes. Snaps from one person to another like a sickness and the only way through is to fuck it out or swing toward violence. And the latter didn't work so good earlier, did it? Not when the only thing that made sense was the desire to get down on his knees and do what he was told. And now they're both here, tangled up in each other. Both of them getting hard.

Something anxious twists through Gabe then. Something sharp that dropkicks him right out of the moment and into something else. He goes still under Daryl, his heart rate kicked up. He doesn't want the tech to boil in his skull, but -

There are worse things, he reminds himself furiously. It can always get worse so you shut the fuck up and deal, sniper. ]

It echoed.

[ His voice is calm. It probably won't last. ]

Whatever's in me, think it's in you now. Hell magic.

[ Fun. So fun. He twitches. Keeps one hand tangled in Daryl's hair and the other on his arm, holding firm. An anchor, so he won't get lost in the middle of this. ]

Don't pin my hands.

[ Not this time. Not today. He don't think he could field that, today. ]

[ Fuck, is right. Daryl feels that creeping, cold realization that it's already too late. The damage has been done, damage he couldn't have predicted because he hasn't heard of this happening this way yet. By the time you can feel it, it's over. He knows that. Even if the consequences are just beginning.

And he'd thought he was helping. ]

God damn it.

[ But it comes out more like a whine than a curse and Daryl ducks his head for a moment. He has to catch his breath, he has to shake this off. Or try to.

He can't. ]

I won't.

[ There's a warm tug in place of the sick one as he remembers being told that before. It's an easy promise. It feels good to give Gabe that, even as he settles his hips between Gabe's open legs. ]

Prove... prove t'me this is okay.

[ The command is accompanied by a slow grind down against Gabe, a silent instruction. ]

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