dadyl | 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝙱𝙾𝚇 ;

[ 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. ]

[ Gabe hisses, rocking against Daryl. He feels entirely too much right now. Like being tossed into the air, like taking a drop in bad weather and knowing - knowing - he's going to go down hard when he hits the ground. Prove it, Daryl says, and Gabe fights the urge to lunge forward and just bite the man. Draw blood and make it a fight.

That would be simpler, he thinks. And there's a part of him that wants it to hurt.

He shivers, digging his nails into Daryl's arm. Then Gabe exhales and leans up, holding Daryl by the hair so he can kiss him. He touches his other hand to Daryl's cheek, feeling out his lines.

Unlike before, it's careful. ]

You won't hurt me.

[ He says it quietly. There's a part of Gabe that wants it to bruise, to scar, but he knows deep down that would change things between them. Make this something sharp, something to be survived. They can do better.

They have to. ]

[ The kiss is slower than Daryl is expecting and the exploring hand on his face reminds him to be careful. Feel for the edges of his control and get ahold of them. He can't ever lose himself because as he's reminded, he can't hurt Gabe. He won't.

But he thinks, maybe, that it might also be Gabe's way of asking him not to. That realization sends another bolt of uneasy sickness through Daryl and he presses his forehead down against Gabe's to fight it. He breathes out a long sigh through his nose and holds them like that for a few seconds before shaking his head in agreement. ]

Not if I can help it.

[ And keeping Gabe from getting hurt, keeping the both of them from getting hurt, means playing Hell's fucking games.

So he sits up a little bit and looks away. ]

Help me get my shirt off.

[ He can't keep the resigned exhaustion out of his command. ]

[ The gesture is a familiar one. A comfort, even under the circumstances, and Gabe breathes out slow and lets himself settle for a moment. Let’s Daryl’s weight over him act as an anchor instead of a cage. Their foreheads pressed together, the moment stilled.

Okay.

He sits up slowly, a beat after Daryl, and nods. He reaches out to find Daryl’s shoulder again, frowning until he reaches the seam line and tugs. ]

There’s anything you don’t want, tell me now.

[ While they’re both still thinking clearly. ]

[ It's an unspeakably old shirt, soft and frayed with age, and the top buttons part with just that tug. Daryl runs his fingers down over the rest to finish the job but Gabe's command sends a nearly electric panic through Daryl that he hasn't let himself feel yet.

There are so many things he doesn't want. More than he knows how to put words to. Every time with Gabe has been like walking a piece of razor wire and somehow coming through without being cut. Daryl swallows, compelled to answer or, it feels like, risk throwing up. ]

I don't-- I don't want t'be the one who... takes it.

[ He flushes a deep color along with the admission, horrified that it's something he managed to verbalize. He doesn't want to think about why it's important to him and he wanted to say it even less. ]

What-- [ He stops himself before saying 'do'. ] --would you want? If... if it were just us?

[ And not whatever magic is compelling them now. ]

Edited 2021-08-24 03:08 (UTC)

[ The question of why feels both too complicated and entirely too easy to untangle and so Gabe doesn’t ask. Maybe one day in the future when they’re both sober - or, alternatively, tanked the fuck out. Because men get weird about that, tangled up in themselves and their histories and all that mess of what it takes to let another men bend them over or lay them out, whichever, and Gabe doesn’t care nearly as much as people think. He knows himself and for a long time that was the only thing that mattered. And in another moment he might have laughed or punched Daryl in the face for saying it like that, like it’s something to be ashamed or afraid of, but not this time. Not here, not when they know shit about each other and the cost of all those damn memories laid out like a carnival game.

He leans forward and kisses Daryl on the cheek instead. Gentle, almost chaste. And when it’s done, he stays close and presses their foreheads together. Breathe in, he thinks, and let go. Be a person. ]

I’d want you to fuck me.

[ He keeps his voice steady. A little softer than before. ]

Slow. Because I don’t do that much, you know? But sometimes I think you’d be good at it.

[ It's the little gentling kiss on the cheek that lets Daryl breathe out again. He didn't make Daryl explain, he didn't tease him about it. Daryl doesn't think he could have taken that. He doesn't want to know what Gabe isn't saying. It's enough that he doesn't say it, that his forehead finds Daryl's and that they can just take a moment to breathe like that. It's intimate enough that Daryl can feel his own heart beating in his throat.

But something tight closes around his chest and squeezes when he hears he's been thought of. That whatever this is, it's rare for Gabe, too. Daryl also knows, almost instinctively, that whatever it is that's got its crushing hold on him now has nothing to do with any poisonous magic.

He's still blushing a little, after all. ]

I'm alright.

[ Delivered in a self-deprecating murmur. Leah had been happy with him, so that has to count for something. He'd been learning with her. He's been learning with Gabe.

And the lesson is pretty clear right now so he leans down to kiss him. Slowly, shallow at first, connecting like he's been afraid to. Then deeper. Lingering longer than he had the last time. When he breaks to whisper, he doesn't pull away. Everything Daryl says Gabe will be able to feel with his lips. ]

Sometimes you think I'd be good at it? [ Another fierce, slow kiss as he rolls his hips against Gabe, once, twice. ] You been thinkin' 'bout me?

[ Oh, that's nice. Gabe hums into the kiss, running a hand through Daryl's hair. Gentle, this time. There's something in the air. A sea change. Something calmer, a little quieter, and the sick feeling is still there but it's lessened, softened. They can survive it. He shivers, hissing out a sigh as Daryl rocks against him because that feels good, too. That's real, that's his.

Fuck. ]

Maybe.

[ He adds a bit of a drawl to it, his original accent bleeding through. All the consonants going sharp. He cups Daryl's cheek for a moment, then - just because he can - bops him on the nose. ]

What if I was?

[ He likes that accent when it shows up. It's one of the few almost homey things that Daryl has found in Hell, other than his own people. Little things that make him feel slightly less than completely displaced.

But when he's literally bopped on the nose he blinks like a cat and then has to turn his face away to laugh. It's soft and it's short, but it's real. Daryl lets his forehead fall against Gabe's shoulder as he sighs out another almost-chuckle and turns his face into his neck. ]

I'd say you got bad taste.

[ It's just the truth, self-depricating as it sounds. But he's also curious in a way he might have been able to ignore without Hell's magic echoing through him, making curiosity feel hot and important. There's another way he can do what's needed, he realizes. ]

Tell me what you were thinkin' about.

[ It's rumbled very quietly but it has a whisper of authority in it. Daryl punctuates the command by kissing Gabe's pulse, letting his teeth and lips drag. ]

[ Gabe snorts at that, cupping the back of Daryl's neck. A fond gesture. At least they can laugh, a little. Even under the circumstances. ]

Excuse you. I have awesome taste.

[ He sighs, groaning as Daryl drags his teeth along his neck. Goddamn. ]

Thought about your hands. How your calluses feel. Goddamn, I thought about that a lot.

[ Daryl isn't expecting the flattery to go right to his groin but it does, settling on a boil where they're pressed together. He's never considered that something like his calluses might be attractive to someone. Something that marks how worn he is, or how old. It makes him pull back to look at Gabe properly. Shy. ]

Yeah?

[ He tries not to sound disbelieving and decides to test the admission, letting both hands drag firmly from Gabe's hips to his waist under his shirt. His skin is warm again even after the cold shower and Daryl tries not to worry. ]

What was I doin' with 'em?

[ Oh, fuck. Gabe hisses, his stomach jumping, and bites back a whine. He lies back down and pulls Daryl with him, rocking into it. He fights the urge to lean forward and just bite Daryl on the shoulder.

Slow. This ought to be slow. ]

Holding me still.

[ He grins. ]

Up against a wall, while I got my legs around you.

[ Daryl throbs just hearing the suggestion but his arms also ache at the thought; he's still exhausted from the panic of the rescue, from the days after spent awake and watching out for Carol. He's tired to the bone, overheated and off-balance from the magic, but the image is also setting him on fire. ]

Put 'em around me now.

[ He wants a part of it, at least, and he wants it immediately. When Gabe obliges, Daryl runs his hands over his thighs and squeezes hard, holding him to the mattress with rocking pressure. ]

Against the wall, huh? [ He teases it with a quick kiss, but then he breaks away to ask carefully: ] Thought you didn't want me holdin' you down?

[ Goddamn, those hands. Gabe bites off a breathless groan, arching under Daryl. Holding tight. Everything aches now. He's inching back up towards overheating but it's slower this time. The sick feeling is there but less. It helps, to focus on the physical. Daryl's weight over him, the way he feels when Gabe wraps his legs around him. Holds him close.

He shivers, one hand on the back of Daryl's neck. An anchor point. ]

It's okay. If you don't pin my hands.

[ Sometimes he can handle that. Sometimes he likes that. Not tonight. But the rest?

The rest, he thinks he'll like just fine. ]

[ It's been impossible for Daryl to forget how responsive Gabe is, but it still makes him stare. Makes him bite his lip and rumble out a groan because the friction is so much and not nearly enough. He nods thoughtfully against the hand gripping his neck. Everything in him screams that it's important to give Gabe what he wants. It's imperative. ]

Alright.

[ He says it quietly before sitting up and leaning back on his thighs to give Gabe room. The sight of him lying there hard and straining his pants makes Daryl a little breathless though, and he spanks Gabe hard on the flank. ]

Get up, then.

[ It startles laughter out of him, sharp and sudden and yes. Adrenaline kicking right back up, keeping him here. Right here, right now, in this moment - and there's a part of him that instinctively wants to turn sharp because why the fuck not, but he holds back. He remembers himself and when he pushes himself up on his elbows, his expression is serious. ]

I'm not laughing at you.

[ He remembers. He's good at that, too. And then he starts undoing the buttons to his shirt. ]

Help me with this.

[ Daryl's heart clenches when Gabe laughs, but it isn't until he'd told that he isn't being laughed at that Daryl realizes he didn't take it that way this time. Something easy has settled between them. He isn't jumping at every response from Gabe anymore and looking for the malice in it.

It's all just... easy. ]

I know.

[ He pats the same spot he just smacked, pausing to squeeze in a reassuring way. It means a lot to him that Gabe is still being careful. He doesn't seem like the type who often is. ]

Yessir.

[ And it means that Daryl gets to tease him back. His own shirt is still hanging undone and open and he gives Gabe a hand doing the same, then slips his rough hands under the hem of whatever Gabe's wearing as a second layer to offer to get it up and over his head. ]

You gonna handle my belt for me?

[ He doesn't need the help. It just feels exciting and sickly right to ask for it. ]

[ And just like that, they've got a balance. Give and take. Gabe hums, pleased and utterly unafraid to show it, and shivers at the feel of Daryl's hands against his skin. It's good, the way the calluses catch against his scars. Keeps him focused, keeps him centered in the moment and in himself. He grins, shrugging his undershirt off as well. Lets it drop. ]

Mhmm.

[ He runs his hand down Daryl's side until he finds his belt, curling his fingers around it. Then he gives it a tug, just to fucking do it, and grins. ]

Yeah.

[ He grins, because he feels alive and in control of himself for the first time in a while - at least since he got fucked up on Hell's latest game - and he goes for Daryl's buckle. Gets it loose and then yanks it off in a smooth, fluid motion. ]

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