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He was getting too old for this, much too old, and he knew it well enough, too, with the creaks he would get in the back of his neck sometimes, arms jarring when he would train, both himself and recruits alike.
Dunwall, now, was even less of a home than it was before, if it ever was at all, for that matter, branded by it with a healed, ugly scar lanced across his throat. Though, it seemed all said and done, even if, sometimes, he didn’t believe more of his blood hadn’t stained the Flooded District. Nothing would be as it was, with the young Empress returned to her rightful throne, no thanks to his own hand, the Plague feasting upon itself and slowly dying out, left with his men and the sight of a death mask imprinted in his head.
With that, came rhythm, came routine and subtle comfort, regardless of his decision for it or not, and he learnt a lesson, he found, that he had once learned before: don’t get boring, don’t get typical.
Daud awoke with a flush and a cold shudder that ran all through his body, feeling something he hadn’t in a long while – the lick and caress of the Void scintillating over his clammy skin. The back of his hand glowed an angry red, running faintly up the carved in scars along his arms, though, he barely recognized it with the heat in his gut, his spine arching slightly off the coarse covers beneath him, his painfully hard prick tenting the thin blanket over him.
He had slept like a log, no dreams, no spurs, and it was rare he ever even felt like this, but it seemed almost controlling him, then. Still tired, still dark outside (morning encroaching), akin to the circles under his eyes, he groaned through his teeth, rolling onto his belly, willing it to go away. The material against him, brushing over his skin, and even the faint, cool breeze that came through his broken, glass windows felt all too nice to him, doing nothing to quell the heat in his groin.
Cussing under his breath, he relented, bringing a hand down between his thighs, fingers curling around his cock, hips shifting into the grasp. With his skin already crawling, already hot, at least he had the thought that it would soon be gone to appease him. He needed no thoughts to help, the mere friction of his grip more than enough. He was dripping over his fingers, slicking the passes of his hand as he stroked from base to tip, the underside of his knuckles passing over the head. There was no care taken, really, Daud just wanted it over so he could sleep, quickening his pace.
His forehead pressed against his pillow, eyes closed, teeth grit and bore as gooseflesh flecked his shoulders and the nape of his neck, the muscles and tendons tensing, bucking into his hand.
As he tipped over the edge, he let it happen, wholeheartedly, hungry and desperate for it, his back curving, his moan quiet, muffled, hot wet lacing his fingers in thick strands. What he had gotten were the hormones, the pleasure of it, the shudders which wracked his tight muscles, but he didn’t get was what he wanted – the relief, the tire that would bring him back to sleep. He was still as hard as he was before in his shaking hold, and everything against his skin still felt too good.
He growled, burying his face into the pillow, the tension in his lower half too uncomfortable to fall unconscious with. Then, he heard it, the low laugh that felt as though it pierced right into his skull, and he knew what he had been ailed with, why his scars and his brand seared.
There was a cold hand on his shoulder, a comfort - while it should have been anything not - to his overly warm skin, fingers running down his spine like spiders’ legs.
“What. Now.” Daud grit out, still with his face in the pillow. He didn’t need to see him to know he was there.
“I didn’t think you would find solace in the mundane, my dearest Daud,” The Outsider said, and, regardless of if he wanted it or not, that ethereal voice and scant touch did naught to help his current situation, the smeared come cooling over his skin.
“What do you want?” Daud asked, his words short. He was tired, he was hard, and he wanted to sate both of these.
“I believe this may be about what you want,” The Outsider smiled faintly when Daud shot him a weak glare. The Assassin was by no means stupid, and after so many years, even an ambiguous God crossed over their own lines once or twice.
“Do you’ve nobody else to annoy with such things to occupy yourself?” He sneered, though the effects of it were lost on the shade as he cocked a brow, obviously speaking, without words, that who was to say he wasn’t already. Two forms, as well as two schemes (or more), would be easy enough to uphold for the Outsider.
“It has been quite some time, don’t you think?” The Outsider enquired, and Daud gave his own, mirthless laugh into the pillow.
“I have been content with it.”
“And if you woke up and the streets were on fire?”
Daud huffed a terse breath, “It would be a welcome distraction to say the least,” It wouldn’t be the first time the Outsider had nudged him into something with words all too silken, drilling trepidation into his nerves.
“How… unfortunate,”
The Outsider was childish, Daud knew well enough, and he couldn’t help but feel he was like a pin cushion the shade shoved razor blades into only when he was bored. As how he would always leave scars, he would never relent until he got what he wanted, or at least some semblance to it.
“What--…” Daud sighed, lifting his head, flush covering the bridge of his nose, “What do you want me to do?” He said with resignation. There was no point in arguing with or even denying him.
The spectre’s expression didn’t change, but Daud could hear how he’d placated through his voice: “We haven’t played this game before, but I’m sure you can pick up the rules.”
“So, what? You wish for me to screw my men until you’re satisfied?”
“If you want to.”
He didn’t want to, that was the thing, and he knew the Outsider knew it, too. His men were loyal, almost infuriatingly so, but that was it. He had no desire to complicate things.
“Fugue is close, and it has been… a while since you’ve participated, no?”
Daud watched him for a few, long moments before slightly shaking his head, closing his eyes, “And you believe me to be becoming typical,”
“Simple pleasures, is all,”
It wasn’t often he dabbled or revelled in such things. Daud was business, and he found the pleasure he needed in such business, perhaps even more so now. The Outsider wanted more, though, it seemed.
He thought, then, of how he could worm himself between these stupidly appointed rules. He could find a prostitute, or even a random, and be done with it. But he couldn’t be sure if the Outsider would be, and, regardless, he was to be a ghost, no more people needed to see his face. Then, the next thought that crossed his mind actually made him laugh, somewhat genuinely, cut off by the shade:
“No.” The Outsider bluntly told him, no doubt sifting through his thoughts, “No Sokolov,”
“Would it be too boring for you?” Daud snorted, still well aware of his beating erection pressed up against his belly, “You can’t change the ‘rules’ now,” Maybe it was petty, but the Outsider was being petty himself.
“Yes, I can.” Obviously, the Outsider was being pettier than he.
“You… don’t leave me with many options,”
“There are many, you just need to go out and find them, dearest Daud,”
That pet name always made him grit his teeth, now. “Well, the Feast is days away, do you expect me to just… deal—“ He grated, “—With what you’ve given me, until then?”
“You’ve been resourceful in the past, and I don’t think that part of you has changed.”
Daud was given another, sinister half-smile before he felt the Void around him flicker, the energy swallowing the Outsider up in the blink of an eye.
He was left hard, still, and more tired than ever, despite the slight pangs of pleasure that would roll up his spine every time he would move, the morning sun beginning to claw itself up the horizon. Swallowing thickly, Daud’s eyes watched the tear between the planes seal up, and he sighed, gruffly, trying to find a somewhat comfortable position and shoving his face back into the pillow.
--
The coming days were as difficult as those Daud spent planning for the death of the Empress, constantly tired and on edge and just plain hot, his clothes too thick and the brush of them against his sensitive skin too distracting. He was thirsty, as well, the sweat which laced his skin taking the most out of him. But just because he was ailed as he was didn’t mean that work could just stop until he had dealt with it.
He tripped every few steps, erection tucked up against his hard stomach, and his whole body wracked with shudders each time he tapped into the Void. It was a punishment of sorts, it had to be, though he could rarely justify why he would deserve these kinds of things from a being such as the Outsider.
His men would try to speak to him, and they would be speaking to his hunched shoulders, Daud having his back to them, hands planted on his desk as he tried to remember how to breathe again. They knew something was wrong – they always seemed to – and the weathered, exhausted glare they would get would stop them from saying anything.
He’d thought about changing his plans and just fucking one of them instead and getting it over and done with, getting to the point where he was really considering it. With great effort, though even better resolve, he abstained from that, however. The Outsider made it seem like he had all the choices in the world, while adding unsaid restriction which narrowed them down definitely. He would bide it out, instead, despite his almost primal need to just fuck someone.
More than once, Daud had spent the sleepless nights trying to sate himself, both hands between his thighs, shoulders pressing back against the damp covers, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the Outsider would give up. He should have known better, it’s physically impossible to out-stubborn a God such as he, but it didn’t stop him from trying.
Laying on his back, he would bite into the back of his hand, over the brand, knowing very well the Outsider could feel it in the Void, making him feel at least a fraction of what he was. The pain that wound into him almost rivalled the pleasure which did each time he came, the bliss fleeting and chased by the discomfort of heated pressure and persisting arousal. He was getting too old for this kind of shit.
Soon enough, he had gotten to the point where he was counting down the minutes until the Feast went into motion. Regardless of the Plague having ended, mostly, it still happened. There was a lot worse left in Dunwall apart from the disease, the festival serving as an escape. Citizens wore skins in order to shed their own. In his line of work, or even just in his lifestyle, Daud never quite partook in the festivities. It had been a long time since he had served by Dunwall’s rules, after all.
His men, on the other hand, did enjoy it. The chance to get drunk in the streets, start pointless brawls, eating anything they could get their hands on, and things much more debauched under the guise of a simple mask.
He supposed he could give them that much, as well as himself.
The Flooded District had been temporarily abandoned for the more bustling city centres, all the arrangements mostly set up, bombs of coloured paint and powder, masks, music, kegs of alcohol and large tables of never ending food. Outside of the city’s cramped houses, there were offerings, also, of all different kinds of foods painstakingly made the day before, placed on window sills out of the reach of the remaining rats. These offers spoke as if to say ‘don’t raid us, please,’ believing that food may stop their homes from being ransacked or ruined for all it was worth. For the most part, it worked.
Daud and his men had arrived just in time, the Master Assassin lagging behind a little, having to adjust himself after every blink across the rooftops and trying to stop himself from blacking out, still. He was sure he could hear the Outsider laughing at him every time. At least somebody was having fun.
Metal entwined wolf mask clad over the top half of his face, the fireworks reflected off it as they burst in the dark sky, fantastic colours of amber and white and blue and violet, the large clock tower of the city square having stopped at the twelve. For the coming day, time would be dead, and Dunwall would be alive.
He had no idea what he was even looking for as he slowly walked over the rooftops, limping a little. Over the days, he had managed to suppress the shudders somewhat, but it was still annoying as anything, bracing himself when he would jump off the edge of one building to land on the next, hissing under his breath, swapping the weight between his feet.
His men had dispersed into the city to raise hell, as was expected, half the population already drunk or messed off hallucinogens. It didn’t take long for Dunwall to get into the feeling of the festivities.
Leaning over the side of the building, he sighed, but was thankful for the half mask covering up his near perpetual flush, and he grit down a groan when he activated his sight, the Void filtering through him a tenfold stronger. The world went grey around him, white and yellow bodies filling up his peripheral as he watched the square, their cones of sight flicking about as they moved.
It wouldn’t be too hard to find a willing and warm body, here, the majority of them just going with whatever flow would come with no repercussions to act as deterrents. The problem with that, though, was if the Outsider would be satisfied with it. He didn’t feel like doing more work than he needed to if all he needed was big game.
Then, Daud found something, or someone, that piqued his interest. The bright alabaster flare of the Outsider’s mark shone off the left hand of a body a ways across the city square, the tinge of it different than from the rest of his men’s, and it only took him a moment to come across who it was.
Much to his own surprise, he was actually angry to find him there, almost, but not entirely, ignoring the ache in his gut as he blinked over the gaps between the buildings. He landed with a loud thud, and the man didn’t even turn around to look at him, too preoccupied with the platter of food in front of him.
Growling under his breath, Daud reached out a hand, fisting the back of his hood and yanking him around. He was right in his assumption, and the hand moved down to the other’s throat, leading him back toward the closest alleyway of which Dunwall had many, toward the darkened end.
Shoving him back against the wall, the wide blue eyes of Corvo stared back at him through a feathered half mask, his cheeks puffed up with food, juice smeared over his, for once, trimmed stubble. Corvo held his hands up, loudly swallowing what was in his mouth and pressing himself further into the wall.
Daud sneered, bearing his teeth. Corvo was always was such a puppy, almost never getting his hands stained, but at least he knew when he was in immediate danger. He must have thought himself safe.
“What are you doing here?” He asked of the Lord Protector in a hushed snarl, his hand still around his throat. Instead of lifting his own to take the grasp away, Corvo tipped his head back a little, and that only made Daud narrow his eyes further. It seemed as though he didn’t recognize him, yet. “Well?”
“…Fugue Feast?” The man tried, his voice quiet. Daud’s expression went slate, sighing again and shaking his head.
“And why aren’t you protecting the Empress?”
He could see the realization click as Corvo’s brow furrowed, pursing his lips.
“She is back at… the… Tower,” He said, his sentence broken as though he thought he shouldn’t be speaking of it, eyes glancing elsewhere.
Not satisfied, Daud pulled him forward and shoved him back twice as hard, trying to get better answers out of him as well as better reactions. Corvo grunted, and he made to push Daud back from him, hands fisting in his red coat.
Maybe it was some kind of repentance Daud gave himself. After everything, even he didn’t wish to see Dunwall fall into disarray once more, have her Empress stripped from her again.
“She had ordered me to… leave,” Corvo started, his vibrato holding a slight edge, but still soft, “…To enjoy the festival,” He added, more lowly.
He supposed, if Corvo had actually left her side, she would be in the hands of the trusted, as well as what would have to have been a small battalion of guards. The more he thought that through, the more it seemed… reasonable. And the less his mind focused on the anger, the more it focused on the other things.
Such as the smell of him, raw and thick, with remnants of the Void which made his gut roil, the hands pressed to his chest, the vicinity of his body radiating heat that was almost engulfing him. Daud squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, and he felt Corvo tense a little under his hand. This was as good a body as any. He was getting desperate – surely the Outsider would find this more than acceptable.
Opening his steely eyes, he watched Corvo for a few more moments before going in for the kill, slanting his mouth hard to his. He pried his lips apart with his own, instantly deepening it. Either Corvo was returning it (poorly), or he was stunned into stillness, and, knowing Corvo, as Daud thought he did, it was likely the latter.
His mouth tasted of fruit, from what he was eating before, laving his tongue over the grooved roof of his mouth, pressing in closer to him, enough to be flush, the metal of their masks clinking and scraping together. Daud actually groaned down his throat, the pressure against his body feeling much too good, only pulling back when he was near breathless.
He kept the proximity close to the Lord Protector who stared back at him more owlishly than before, slowly blinking his wide eyes. Corvo hadn’t shoved him back yet, so at least that was a good sign, the hands fisted into his coat having loosened slightly, palms splayed over his chest. Daud leered back at him, absolutely hungry and panting.
“Uh—“ Corvo uttered before being cut off, Daud kissing him again and swallowing down the words. Then, the kiss was more rough, all teeth and tongue, harshly biting at the man’s lips, pressing his hips to his and grinding against him like an animal. The friction was something, making him moan, but definitely not enough.
Corvo’s breath hitched between the lip-lock, subtle actions of his body Daud could only barely pick up through the heated blear in his head – the man’s hips shifting back just slightly against his own, the hands at his chest curling in again to pull him minutely closer.
Pressing their foreheads together, breathing hotly between their mouths, Daud’s hands moved down to the other’s hips, his normal grace and articulation lost in the fervour as he made to undo his belts. As he was, Corvo breathed more harshly, too, but much too his surprise, he was kissing him back, or trying to. He pressed light pecks to his lips, infuriatingly gentle, and Daud was beginning to believe that he didn’t know any other way to do such a thing.
With a growl, he pulled the metal bit from the hole in his belt, tugging it loose from the buckle and claiming Corvo’s mouth again as he shoved a hand into his pants. Even now, Daud wasn’t selfish, cursing himself for it, curling his fingers around Corvo’s dick, feeling it already half hard in his grasp. He took his lower lip between his teeth, biting down hard, Corvo gasping and bucking once, shallowly, into his gloved hand, the leather worn, soft.
Though not selfish, Daud was still business, straight forward, even if he did just want to take him then and there. He stroked him, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock, firmly tracing up a thick vein running from the root of his length. Corvo was quiet, as always, giving soft moans, breaks in his breath, gradually becoming choppier.
When he was suitably hard, Daud grabbed the hem of his pants, shucking them further down, just above his knees. He forcibly turned Corvo over with little resistance to be had, pressing his chest against the cold wall and gripping his hips, pulling them back so he would be slightly bent. Corvo let himself be moved, for the most part, near-wild eyes glancing back at him.
Daud occupied himself with his own belts, pulling them open without much care, giving a rough exhale of relief when his prick came free from the cover, the flesh flushed and hard and dripping, already. He glanced up at Corvo, fleetingly, before stepping forward, his cock rutting against the curve of the man’s ass. Arching a bit, he moaned into Corvo’s clothed shoulder, slipping his length between the muscles and holding it close together as he rolled his hips against him.
He swore he could feel the breath of the Outsider on the back of his neck, sending a shudder down his spine, and it did nothing to help his situation. Lifting a hand of his, he bit into one of the fingers of his glove, pulling it off and away, letting it drop to the ground before licking thickly over his index and middle fingers. Midway, he glanced up at Corvo again, who was watching him in what was either anticipation or horror, and, then, he hoped it wasn’t the latter.
A trail of saliva stretched between his reddened lips and his fingers as he took them from his mouth, shifting back a little to bring his hand between them. He watched what he was doing, hearing Corvo’s jaws click together as he slicked his fingers over his hole. Daud half expected him to jerk away, but he stayed fast as he pushed in a digit, the muscle giving way, Corvo pressing his forehead to the rough wall, forcibly levelling his breath.
At not being shoved away, Daud began to think he must have done this at least once before, and the possibilities would have made him snort if he wasn’t so riled up, sliding in another finger beside the first. Sidling up close again, his cock rubbed against the meat of Corvo’s flank, his other hand clawing up his covered chest, up to his neck.
He felt Corvo swallow under his fingers, the tendons sticking out. Daud felt no anger towards him, if anything, gratitude, for both his life and now, but this was something… different, and he tightened his fingers around his throat, just enough for that pang of pain and discomfort as he crooked his digits inside of him, repeating the action.
Corvo wheezed in a breath through the – all things considered – light vice, his bare thighs trembling, Daud taking his fingers from him only to push them back in knuckle deep, stretching him out. He tensed his fingers an integer more, just to hear him gasp again, and that was enough for Corvo to lift his own hand from the wall and pry his hand away.
Daud obliged, of course. If he really wanted to kill him, he would have back when they’d first properly met, instead of placing him in another prison which he eventually escaped. The Assassin had a few inches of height on the other, and he ducked his head in, sinking his teeth into the base of his neck. Corvo gave a guttural groan, Daud tasting the small beads of blood on his tongue, and despite the roughness of the sound, Corvo still looked slightly like a cowed animal when he opened his eyes, seeing the corner of his.
Taking his teeth out, he licked over the bite, snorting gruffly, “Seems as though you do have a man inside you somewhere,”
Craning his neck, Corvo wordlessly looked back at him, his eyes glazed over somewhat, his lips kiss-bruised. Daud took that expression as one to continue. He took his fingers from him, lifting his hand and spitting into it. Unless he wanted to wander out into Fugue half naked - which, when the nature of the Feast was taken into account, wouldn’t be all that strange - and find some other kind of lubricant, this would have to do.
He slicked his hand over his prick, his breath short, hot, the flesh straining in his hand, coating it in his saliva and the moisture which oozed from the head in a near constant stream. He hoped the Outsider was watching. This was something he didn’t want to repeat, for Corvo’s sake, anyway.
Having never heard Corvo getting fucked before, he had no idea how he would be, whether loud or quiet, but he didn’t want to take his chances at becoming a spectacle, curling his gloved hand around Corvo’s mouth as he aligned his cock. The Lord Protector lifted one of his own hands, gripping at his wrist to try and take it away, the grasp faltering in a stutter as Daud pushed into him.
Despite the preparation, Corvo was still tight, Daud biting into the man’s shoulder through his coat, the tails of which were pushed to the side, to muffle his own sounds. It almost hurt, feeling Corvo clench around him as he pressed in further, forcing himself to at least go a little slower than what he wanted, lest Corvo actually shove him away.
There were no vibrations under his hand from the Lord Protector’s sounds, only whistling breath from the bare space between his palm and his mouth. Deliberately, once buried hilt deep inside him, he brought his hand away. Corvo panted, the side of his forehead pressed to the wall before him, eyes closed, sweat at his temple.
Daud licked the wetness away, Corvo shuddering around him as he raked his hand down his chest, taking a hold of his dick again and stroking him back into hardness, moisture smearing over the leather of his glove.
Corvo neither told him to move nor told him not to, so Daud just did as his body demanded of him, what the Outsider was hounding him for. Pressing his chest to the other’s back, he pulled out of him, the friction so good he thought it would finish him right then. The Outsider wouldn’t have that, though, he was sure. Corvo’s hips shifted, tipping forward into the firm hand around his cock, small sounds falling by his lips and he pushed him forward as he sheathed his prick back inside him.
The Lord Protector groaned, lowly, bracing a forearm on the wall and biting into his own wrist, likely not willing to embarrass himself with his noises. That was fine with him, moaning against the side of his bitten throat, pulling out again, pressing in, his hips flush against the back of Corvo’s.
This was better than his hands, so much better, and that was probably why the Outsider wouldn’t let him find relief just with his simple fingers. There wasn’t as much abandon in it, not as base or fevered.
Daud set his own pace, hard, quick and deep, Corvo’s breath choking and hitching against his wrist, obvious teeth indents set in the skin just below his brand. The Assassin’s other hand not around Corvo’s length was digging into his hip, nails bruising the fair skin as he held him in place for his thrusts. He squeezed around his prick, the sudden action having Corvo buck into his hand, then back against his cock.
As was with his hands, he didn’t think he would last all too long, and he would let it come, though not before Corvo did. He was not a selfish lover, as rarely he was one at all. Daud bit into his neck again, near the previous bite, Corvo tightening around him and giving a fluttery sound he didn’t think was very appropriate of a Lord Protector.
Tensing his hand around Corvo’s length, he stroked him in time with the shallow, though rough, rolls of his hips, the pad of his finger rubbing over the weeping slit. He watched Corvo’s fingertips scrape against the wall he was braced against, chipping both the plaster and his nails, the man’s breath breaking and stopping as he felt wet heat lace his glove.
The muscles around his dick clenched almost painfully, and now that he felt like he could, he felt his own peak rushing, the heat in his stomach coiled up and releasing. His moan, then, was not unlike a sob as he came, buried deep in the other, Corvo trying to pull away from him and the moisture which filled him.
Daud didn’t even care, letting him slump against the wall, his dick sliding from him, willing the grating mix of pleasure and pain to leave. With it abating from his veins, he thought he would collapse when relief came with it, pressing his hands to the wall either side of Corvo to hold himself up, his legs going boneless.
He ducked his head, pressing his sweat sheened forehead to the back of Corvo’s shoulder, his tired, half lidded eyes watching his come drip down the man’s inner thighs. If it was any other time, he might have felt smug about the whole thing, but he just felt flooding relief, over and over.
Between his arms, Corvo was quick to gather himself, shifting his weight between his feet uncomfortably and crouching down to pull up his pants, his shaky hands redoing up the zipper and belts. Daud lifted his head again, with some effort, as Corvo glanced back at him, an unsure expression on the Lord Protector’s face.
A moment later he felt the pulse of the Void, a trail of amber and azure nether leading upward, Corvo clamouring up over the edge of the building, gone.
That was okay. Right then, he didn’t want to see either he or the Outsider ever again as he felt how it was to breathe again.