There were very few directions a mind could drift when presented with the particular cues Jean-Claude's body language, actions, and voice gave out. For Daryl, the direction his went was to a fantasy he'd made up once a good twenty years before to get his brother off his back about how little he talked about his 'sexual conquests' the way any good Dixon man should. Merle did enough of that sort of talking for the lot of them as far as Daryl was concerned. But he'd had to play his part every now and then to keep his brother from being too much for him to handle and to keep his father's belt at bay.
It wasn't even a fantasy he'd ever actually had prior to that. Just one he'd come up with to shut Merle and his friends up. That he'd like to take a girl - because of course it had to be a girl - out into the woods and when she was lookin' good and ready, push her up against a tree and doing all kinds of nasty things to her while she begged him for more. He'd thought about it from time to time, afterwards. What he might actually like to happen rather than what he was expected to want. It was never as aggressive as he'd first described it, those other times it came to his mind.
It was a slow push backwards with hands on hips and a laugh on both their lips. All quiet smiles as they kissed each other and thumbs rubbing slow, gentle circles into the divots of skin that could just be felt above the waist of their jeans. There'd be no scars for him to be afraid of her feeling. She'd be happy to just stay there, leaning against each other, and kissing for hours. Nothing else asked and nothing else expected. And she'd be the one doing the pushing. She'd be the one pressing his back against the tree. All hazy lighting and romance novel shit. The kind he'd have been called 'Darlenna' for if he'd ever said the truth of it.
That same picture entered his mind at Jean-Claude's question. Only this time that fantasy wasn't slow and soft. It was violent and forceful the way he knew vampires were. It was the other man shoving him backwards, manicured fingers fisting in Daryl's shirt as he found each button and pulled it open without regard for the damage done. It was pale, cold lips meeting his neck and sucking hard enough to mark, warmed by the friction and little else.
Daryl's eyes shut as he bit his bottom lip. His head dropped so his forehead rested against Jean-Claude's shoulder. The hand of the arm being teased came up to grip that elbow and halt the action while his other curled into the vampire's shirt right where it tucked into those too-tight pants. He needed the support as his mind wandered to places he didn't want it to and his body responded in ways he'd forgotten it could.
Embarrassing ways. Very embarrassing ways.
The kind of ways that as soon as it happened, there was little chance the vampire wouldn't recognize the smell of it even with as fast as Daryl pushed him away and darted off. His bobcat form taking over before he'd gotten two steps. But there was no way he was sticking around to be laughed at. Even if Jean-Claude had been sincere about the rest of it, he was still a man. And Daryl had never met any man who wouldn't make fun of another for being that quick on the draw.
no subject
It wasn't even a fantasy he'd ever actually had prior to that. Just one he'd come up with to shut Merle and his friends up. That he'd like to take a girl - because of course it had to be a girl - out into the woods and when she was lookin' good and ready, push her up against a tree and doing all kinds of nasty things to her while she begged him for more. He'd thought about it from time to time, afterwards. What he might actually like to happen rather than what he was expected to want. It was never as aggressive as he'd first described it, those other times it came to his mind.
It was a slow push backwards with hands on hips and a laugh on both their lips. All quiet smiles as they kissed each other and thumbs rubbing slow, gentle circles into the divots of skin that could just be felt above the waist of their jeans. There'd be no scars for him to be afraid of her feeling. She'd be happy to just stay there, leaning against each other, and kissing for hours. Nothing else asked and nothing else expected. And she'd be the one doing the pushing. She'd be the one pressing his back against the tree. All hazy lighting and romance novel shit. The kind he'd have been called 'Darlenna' for if he'd ever said the truth of it.
That same picture entered his mind at Jean-Claude's question. Only this time that fantasy wasn't slow and soft. It was violent and forceful the way he knew vampires were. It was the other man shoving him backwards, manicured fingers fisting in Daryl's shirt as he found each button and pulled it open without regard for the damage done. It was pale, cold lips meeting his neck and sucking hard enough to mark, warmed by the friction and little else.
Daryl's eyes shut as he bit his bottom lip. His head dropped so his forehead rested against Jean-Claude's shoulder. The hand of the arm being teased came up to grip that elbow and halt the action while his other curled into the vampire's shirt right where it tucked into those too-tight pants. He needed the support as his mind wandered to places he didn't want it to and his body responded in ways he'd forgotten it could.
Embarrassing ways. Very embarrassing ways.
The kind of ways that as soon as it happened, there was little chance the vampire wouldn't recognize the smell of it even with as fast as Daryl pushed him away and darted off. His bobcat form taking over before he'd gotten two steps. But there was no way he was sticking around to be laughed at. Even if Jean-Claude had been sincere about the rest of it, he was still a man. And Daryl had never met any man who wouldn't make fun of another for being that quick on the draw.