Archive of Our Own ^beta

The only reason that Daud stays in Dunwall is that Corvo—grudgingly, strangely—gave him a chance to help put it back together.

They broke the city; they broke each other, they left death strewn in their wake. Dunwall bathed in blood and pus and fear, and although things are getting better, sometimes every scrap of improvement feels fake. The rat plague still lives in Corvo’s heart, in the maze of Daud’s late-night thoughts.

Daytimes, they work together to make sure Emily’s reign is stable. Nighttimes, Corvo comes to Daud’s bed more often than not.

Daud is dead certain that it’s wrong for him to be fucking Jessamine’s former lover, but when Corvo first approached him, he gave in immediately; unable to deny himself or unable to deny Corvo, he’s not sure. He tries to not dwell on how Corvo must feel about their situation, and he's helped along by how well their arrangement has worked out.

Corvo likes what he quietly calls “bad things”—to be pinned down, tied up, slapped, cut. Daud likes doing bad things to him. Something about Corvo cries out for degradation, makes Daud feel hungry and inhuman. He never thought he had such a taste for cruelty, but everything about Corvo invites it. After everything that’s happened to him, he’s strange, quiet and fierce and skittish. Just as ruined as anyone Daud had ever picked up for a Whaler, and Daud knows how to handle ruined men.

~

Sometimes they spend evenings on the roof of Dunwall Tower—the very top, the roof of what was once Hiram Burrows’ safe room—with or without a bottle of Old Dunwall. Tonight Corvo brings whiskey, and so Daud brings the little bottle of oil that usually stays by his bed, and a big, thick woolen blanket. Corvo does like to fuck drunk.

From their perch, they catch a little of the breeze off the Wrenhaven. Lights burn in the Tower far below. There’s no need for talk. Corvo passes the bottle to Daud, and Daud passes the bottle to Corvo, and then they do it again.

At length, Daud’s fingers catch in Corvo’s long hair, snarled by the day’s work. He doesn’t pretend it’s an accident.

Corvo leans over and kisses him. Climbs half into his lap and kisses him again, rooting through Daud’s pockets for the oil. Drinking makes him loose-limbed and greedy, and it’s easy for Daud to get his trousers and drawers halfway down his thighs while Corvo is distracted.

Corvo pushes the oil into Daud’s palm, loosening the cap with his thumb. Daud takes the hint; he gets his fingers wet, then cups the generous curve of Corvo’s ass in his palms.

God, he’s lovely. He’s gained back the weight he lost in Coldridge, but of course the scars stayed, and both the unhurt and the healed-up parts of him drive Daud wild. Corvo doesn’t need it gentle by any means, but Daud thinks he’ll take his time. He's going to relish the feel of Corvo's body.

So he rubs soft circles over Corvo’s hole, holding him still in his lap, until Corvo starts to make cross impatient sounds.

“You’ll get it,” Daud tells him, and adds just enough pressure to start to coax him open. Corvo groans, but doesn’t complain. Slowly, Daud works him open until he’s got three fingers buried in Corvo’s ass and Corvo is squirming.

Just for the hell of it, Daud pulls them out. Then he pushes them back in again, quick.

Corvo shivers and sighs and lets his weight fall onto Daud’s hand. He feels lovely, hot and slippery, and Daud basks in it.

Then, suddenly, Corvo shifts again, rocking to one side until Daud’s fingertips are barely inside him anymore. “If we’re going to do this, I’d better…” He trails off, husky voice softening. “Y’know.” He gives one of his silent laughs, waving in what might be the direction of the nearest toilet, and his head tips forward against Daud’s shoulder.

Mocking Corvo while he’s fingering him usually works out well, so Daud grins to himself and says, “What, afraid you’re going to shit on my dick?” He hooks Corvo’s rim and gives it a little tug.

Corvo shivers, a twitch of his skin like a horse shooing flies, and sinks back onto Daud’s fingers. “Let me go,” he says, “or you’ll be very sorry.”

“Let you go?” Daud says. Will I? “You’re the one fucking yourself on my hand all of a sudden.” Corvo curls toward him, warm against his chest. “Hnn.” He shoots Daud a really interesting look from under half-closed eyelids. Daud’s just tipsy enough to think, Hell with it, let’s play this game. He’s crawled through Dunwall’s sewers—and waded through still-hot whale blood and offal, and slogged through the fetid water of the Flooded District—too often to be squeamish.

“You know your safeword,” he reminds Corvo, and he takes his wrist in his free hand.

“I’m completely restrained,” Corvo deadpans. He fumbles for the whiskey with the hand Daud isn’t holding and takes another swig. Then he leans in and kisses Daud.

Daud kisses back, tasting the whiskey sharply on Corvo’s tongue. Corvo’s an excellent kisser; he moves his tongue subtle and sweet, infinitely responsive to Daud’s movements. Every so often, he’ll pull back to suck on Daud’s bottom lip, or nip at it. Daud has to let go of Corvo’s wrist eventually to grab his hair instead and reward him with little yanks.

At first he thinks Corvo is just shifting because of the hair pulling; it really does get him going. But then Corvo pulls away from his mouth, trailing a string of spit, lips swollen, and gasps.

“You might want to take your fingers out of my ass,” he says raggedly.

“Ah,” says Daud. Now that he’s paying attention, his wrist aches. “My hand needs a break. I’m not backing out.” He eases his fingers free, and watches Corvo squirm as he adjusts to being empty.

Daud shakes his wrist out, then runs his hand down Corvo’s belly, across his thighs. He strokes over Corvo’s belly again and lingers, low on his body, right above the root of his cock.

“Please,” Corvo says. He grits his teeth. “Ah. Let me go.” Under Daud’s palm, his abdomen contracts. His face is flushed.

Of course, Daud has seen Corvo overwhelmed with lust before, overwhelmed with pain, but it turns out that he’s easy for this, too. Watching Corvo struggle against his body’s natural functions is so fucking good—regardless of how much it shouldn’t, watching Corvo sweat and fight it really does it for him.

“No,” Daud says. He keeps a solid grip on Corvo’s arm.

“All right,” Corvo says, raising an eyebrow at Daud. Then he spends the next couple of minutes wriggling out of his boots and trousers and smallclothes, without breaking Daud’s grip on his arm. Daud doesn’t even have to work to hold on; it’s endearing, really, even though Corvo kicks him in the legs a few times by accident.

He pulls Corvo in for another deep kiss; when their mouths part, Corvo winces. Daud cups his ass with one hand and feels his muscles tense, then relax.

“Getting uncomfortable?” he asks, pressing his face into Corvo’s collarbone. He tastes like salt.

“Yes,” Corvo says. He reaches between them and palms Daud’s dick, which is beginning to ache. “And you like it.”

Daud bites him, and pours some more oil onto his hand.

When he presses his fingertips against Corvo’s asshole again, he gets a surprising amount of resistance—of course, Corvo’s tensed himself up, ready to hold it in. If they play it that way, it could be ages before they get anywhere. Besides, he doesn’t think Corvo should be allowed the ability to restrain himself.

“No,” Daud breathes against his ear. “You don’t get control.” He pushes two freshly-slicked fingers up into Corvo’s hole. Corvo wails and clenches down. But Daud pries him open anyway, eased along by the way Corvo’s muscles pull in whether he wants them to or not. He spreads his fingers apart and holds Corvo open—and oh, this is good, this is better than he thought. His heart’s pounding.

Corvo makes a pathetic sound and tries to close up. His asshole twitches and pulses against Daud’s fingers, and Daud can’t resist petting at the smooth flesh just inside him.

“Easy,” he says. “Don’t fight me so hard, you’ll hurt yourself.” He smooths his other hand along Corvo’s trembling thigh.

“You try having someone hold you open so you’ll shit yourself,” Corvo says, his acerbic tone only slightly spoiled by how hard he’s breathing, “and see if you don’t—ah, fuck—if you don’t fight it.” He goes still, expression inward, and Daud can’t help but notice how thick and flushed his cock is.

Suddenly Corvo breathes, “Void damn it.” He jerks against Daud’s grip. “Nnngh. Let me go, I can’t—”

They’re really doing this now, because there’s no way Daud is letting him go unless he safewords. “Can’t what?”

Corvo winces and tightens up and says, “Fuck you.” Sweat glistens along his hairline.

Daud spreads his fingers, fighting the strangling grip of Corvo’s muscles. Holds him open, even as he tries to lift up and pull away. His breathing comes faster and faster.

Corvo whines, screws his eyes shut. Daud can see muscles in his abdomen twitch as he tries to hang on. Then Corvo grunts, soft and deep, and his back bows. He looks fucking incredible, shaking in Daud’s lap, his hard cock smacking against his belly.

“You can’t what?” Daud prompts again, and even to him his voice sounds destroyed.

“Can’t hold it,” Corvo grits out. “Fuck.”

Daud grins to himself, a mere slice of teeth, and pushes his fingers deep into Corvo’s ass, spreading the lube around, opening him wider. He can feel—well, he’s trying not to put a name to what he can feel, even though his cock’s aching over it—when he pushes deeper, and he knows Corvo doesn’t have a chance.

He lets go of Corvo’s hip in order to give his dick a few solid strokes. Corvo whimpers and fucks himself confusedly onto Daud’s hand, and then chokes, “Oh no,” when he squeezes around Daud’s fingers, hot and wet and all out of his control.

Daud lets go of him. No longer restrained, Corvo struggles up off his lap. Daud’s fingers slide easily out of him.

He staggers a step or two away across the flat roof, then freezes. “Fuck,” he says, and bites his lip hard. Daud’s cock jerks; he leans forward as Corvo sinks into a crouch, wide-eyed. Precome drips off his dick.

“Really?” Daud says, and puts all the contempt he can into it. “You can’t even—you’re just going to shit yourself right here?”

“No,” Corvo says, humiliated, “I’m not—” He tries to move forward, but immediately freezes. He whines, head falling back, and tries to not let go, tries until he’s shaking.

Daud wants to see him fail.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” he says. “Don’t like how your guts are cramping, right? You could feel so much better.”

“Shut up,” Corvo says thickly.

“You want my hand back on your dick, don’t you? Want me to force you over the edge? Put my fingers back in you and open your little hole—”

“Daud,” Corvo says. Squirms, like that’ll help.

“You want me to touch you until you can’t help it, right? If I touch your ass enough you’ll just fucking lose control, won’t you?”

“Shut up,” Corvo says, tears in his voice and in his eyes, and Daud knows he’s got him.

“Come on. Come on, Corvo. Just reach back there. Feel how fucking hard you’re trying. C’mon. You know you want me to hold you open and make you—”

His mouth goes too dry for words as Corvo shuffles in his direction. His eyes are completely unfocused, mouth half open. Before he can reach Daud, though, he stops and bears down. Gasps. Then shuts his eyes and moans and gives up.

Corvo’s wrecked enough that he makes noises while he relieves himself, guttural and abandoned, and Daud can’t wait to fuck him, regardless of how filthy he might be. He’s got his hand pressed against his erection already.

When he’s finished, Corvo crawls back to him, hair hanging around his face, still painfully hard. Daud loves the look on his face, knows it well—the point at which his shame becomes so overwhelming it transforms into complete pleasure, into a strange sort of exaltation.

He reaches Daud’s lap and ducks his head even further. “Sorry,” he says in a shred of a voice, like he hadn’t asked for this, like Daud hadn’t made him do it. Daud growls involuntarily.

“You’d better be,” he says, and as always Corvo responds so prettily to him, whining and sinking toward him like he can’t hold himself up.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he whimpers, and Daud reaches down to haul him into his lap. He pushes three fingers straight into his ass. Corvo flinches—getting sore, probably—but the way he’s pushing and flexing against Daud’s fingers says he doesn’t care.

Daud gives it to him hard and steady, the pads of his fingers right against Corvo’s prostate, ignoring the uncomfortable angle. Corvo comes all over himself in less than a minute, making a choked, ugly noise that leaves Daud too turned on to see.

He yanks at the fastenings of his pants, hampered by the fact that Corvo’s slumped down on top of him. Daud manages to get his cock out anyway.

Outsider’s eyes, but Corvo’s sweet after he comes: floppy and wrecked and so, so compliant. Daud goes back for one more coat of lube, smears it across Corvo’s ass, and then grabs the place where Corvo’s thigh joins his hip and pulls him in.

He wants to say something, to threaten or promise or praise, but he’s too far gone himself. Corvo knows what he wants, anyway; he knows he needs to be good and help Daud line himself up so that he can—

He lies back on the roof to get leverage and snaps his hips up, and Corvo drops down onto his dick all at once. Even with everything Daud’s put him through, it’s a lot; Corvo gasps.

Daud runs his hands down Corvo’s sweat-damp thighs. “Still doing fine?” At Corvo’s nod, he braces his feet and starts rolling his hips. It feels good to move, and better still to watch Corvo shiver above him, sodden hair sticking to his face.

Corvo has rarely looked so out of it. He braces himself on Daud’s chest, fingernails digging into his flesh, and starts riding him as fast as he can manage.

Daud grabs his hair and pulls; Corvo groans and rocks back, but his eyes slit open.

“How does it feel?” Daud rumbles.

He gets a moan. God, Corvo’s useless right now.

“Good,” Corvo manages. “Fucking dirty—oh, oh—” He claws red marks down Daud’s ribs as Daud thrusts up.

Daud grabs his waist and pulls him down hard, trying to leave fingerprint bruises, trying to stuff Corvo so full of his cock that he has no room left for thought. Corvo shrieks and clings.

“Daud, please—”

Daud leans up and slaps him. He can’t not. Corvo’s a disaster and he’s his. He’s wild with the need to mark him up, hurt him, come on or in him. “Oh, you’ll just let me do anything to you, won’t you,” he hears himself say.

“Yes,” Corvo says wildly. Panting, exhausted, deliciously humiliated, cock starting to plump up again.

“You liked having to do that,” Daud tells him. He rolls his hips up, sliding his dick deeper into Corvo’s pretty little ass.

Corvo clenches his jaw and says, “Yes.”

“You’re disgusting,” Daud snarls, and he digs his fingers into Corvo’s sides, fucks him like he’s trying to impale him. “Filthy. You fucking piece of shit—” Their bodies slide together, frictionless with sweat, and Corvo starts to whimper, voice slowly scaling higher.

“Fucking awful, you filthy little bitch.” Daud grabs his hair and yanks; Corvo gasps as his head snaps forward. “Make you—fuck, wreck you. Hurt you—” Daud barely has any control over what he’s saying anymore, and even less over what he’s doing. He plants his feet harder against the tiles, fucks up into Corvo so that he’s bouncing on his cock.

“You want to do that again?” he asks, curling his hand roughly around Corvo’s dick. “Gonna make you—you’re going to crawl for me again, aren’t you. Crawl and cry and—”

He gasps for air, hand almost slipping off Corvo’s cock—he’s sloppy with his own come. It’s not going to take much longer; Daud’s legs tense up more and more by the second, and his balls tighten.

“Come on,” he spits, glaring up at Corvo unfocusedly, asking for something to get him there.

For a moment, Corvo’s mouth curls wickedly, and then he’s gasping out, “Daud, wait—I have to, I can’t—” and Daud knows what he’s saying is an act by the way his voice gets false-sweet, but that might even make it better. “I have to—nngh.”

He groans and his back curls, just like it did before, and Daud vividly remembers how pathetically Corvo struggled against his own body and the noises that he made when he gave in.

Corvo grins down at him knowingly and rasps out, “If I—if I lost it while you were fucking me…”

“Outsider’s eyes,” Daud says.

Now he can feel his impending orgasm pounding in his veins and his aching lungs. He remembers saying, What, afraid you’re going to shit on my dick? and he could laugh, if he weren’t so busy almost coming, and yeah, he wants the snug sweet pressure of Corvo’s ass while Corvo sweats and struggles under him, begging him to let him go before it’s too late.

“I’d like it,” Corvo breathes. “Want that. Tell me how bad I am, treat me bad, kick me around for—”

Daud’s hearing cuts out. He growls through clenched teeth and shakes his way through a bone-rattling orgasm, frantically trying to hurt Corvo with anything he can manage—his hands, his cock; he even lifts his head in a vain attempt at biting. Corvo rides it out, openmouthed and smug, and he spills easily over Daud’s chest with Daud’s next rough pull on his dick.

They collapse in a pile of sweaty, sticky limbs.

Daud drapes his arms over Corvo and catches his breath, enjoying the thrum of satisfaction in his body. Corvo nuzzles up to his throat and goes limp.

Daud drifts for a while, absently petting Corvo’s back to ground him. Sweat collects in the hollow of his spine; his skin is hot everywhere it touches Daud’s.

“All right?” he asks eventually.

“Mmm.” Corvo stretches on top of him, smearing the come trapped between their bodies. “’M good.” He lays his head back down. “Want a bath. And more whiskey.”

“Water first,” Daud tells him. “Unless you’re into hangovers now.”

Corvo gives him a sleepy, sidewise glance.

“We’ll have to clean off the roof,” Daud realizes, curling his lip. He determinedly doesn’t look in the direction of the offending piece of shit.

Corvo laughs hard enough to shake them both. Eyes crinkled in amusement, he grabs for the bottle of Old Dunwall and rests it carefully on Daud’s chest. “My condolences.”

“Thanks,” Daud grumbles.

Corvo’s laughter subsides; he tilts his head and stares at Daud. “Was it— Was that too much? Would you do it again?” He snaps back into wariness too easily, these days, and there he is again, as if Daud hadn’t just thoroughly enjoyed making Corvo lose control of his own body.

“Void help me, I would,” Daud tells him, and though his tone is long-suffering, he finds Corvo’s hands with his own dirty ones and squeezes them tight.