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artificialqueens · 7 years

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if i could have you pt.2 (Biadore) - dylann

A/N: thank you all SO much for all the love you gave to pt. 1!!! it’s fucking unbelievable.

this is just a whole bunch of fluff to wrap it all up. I have out-fluffed myself.

content warnings for this chapter: throwing up, lots of swearing, references to sex but nothing too explicit

Danny has uneasy dreams about screaming and feels the nausea coming on before he’s even fully awake.

The night before comes back to him in nightmarish flashes:

a pretty boy with orange eyes, a demon behind the wheel of an Uber, yelling at Bianca.

His head pounds.

“Fuck,” he groans, and tries to roll over, but theres a heavy arm resting over his ribs. He doesn’t remember fucking anyone but it’s not entirely impossible, and he needs to move, now.

Danny presses his eyes shut even tighter, and more flashes flood his mind:

Bianca yelling back, Roy’s hands on his wrists, Danny’s own bloodshot eyes judging him in the bathroom mirror.

He feels sick and the reasonable part of his brain is urging him to get up and get himself to the shower.

Somewhere in the room, a phone rings with a text alert - it’s crisp and high-pitched and feels like a punch to the temple.

“Fuck,” Danny repeats, and forces his eyes open.

Roy is inches away, blurry, sleeping, and stunning.

Sobbing in Roy’s arms, the tightness in his chest as he spoke at Roy, crawling into Roy’s bed.

“Fuck.”

Danny’s ears ring when he darts up and his vision goes almost all black as he stumbles to the bathroom.

His knees hit the floor with enough force to jolt him fully awake right as he coughs and vomits violently into the toilet. Right now, even having made it there is a victory.

Danny whimpers and reaches blindly to flush before resting his head against the side of the bowl. The porcelain is cold and comforting and he feels pathetic enough to want to curl up and maybe rest there for a while.

He doesn’t trust his legs enough to move right now, anyway.

“Do you need anything? Water?”

Danny forces one eye open just enough to see Roy standing in the doorway. He doesn’t attempt a joke or make fun of where Danny’s at, which for some reason makes Danny’s stomach contract again.

“Just—“ he starts, slowly. His throat feels raw. He does need water, and he’s embarrassed to ask. ”Uh. How much did I fuck up last night?”

Roy stares down at him and his shoulders drop. He mouths something that looks terribly like Oh— okay to himself and then takes a cautious step into the bathroom.

“How much do you remember?”

Danny takes his time before answering. He takes a few breaths in through his nose, makes sure he’s not about to throw up again, and shifts carefully to sit with his back against the toilet bowl. The tile is cold against his thighs and he’s suddenly all too aware that he’s almost entirely naked.

It’s nothing Roy hasn’t seen before but it makes him look even more like an anti-alcohol PSA and he feels so ridiculous he’d probably laugh at himself if he wasn’t preoccupied by a thick cloud of anxiety rising up from his lungs and threatening to choke him.

“I— fuck. I remember us fighting. And I’m sorry. I uh… I didn’t overstep any boundaries, did I?”

“That’s debatable.”

Roy breathes out his reply in an almost-laugh and Danny is panicking. Why is Roy laughing at him?

(his mind flashes to the orange-eyed boy from his dream. He’d been laughing. Why is everyone laughing at him?)

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I—“

“You’re good. You’re good,” Roy approaches him quickly to crouch beside him and look him in the eye. Danny holds his breath. “You didn’t do anything bad. Just kinda— said what I’ve been thinking for a while.”

He cracks the smallest, gentlest smile and the flash comes,

Roy’s lips on his, vodka and cigarettes and cucumber, his mascara on Roy’s face, Roy’s lips, Roy’s lips, Roy’s lips.

“Fuck. Oh,” Danny whispers, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. It’s greasy and gross and his stomach does another dangerous flip. He’d been dreaming about this for literal years and when it’d finally happened, it’d been like this, and he’d been fucked up enough to forget it.

It feels horrible.

“Shit. It came back to me,” he adds, dropping his hand from his hair to the bridge of his nose. Every single part of his body hurts.

“Yeah?” “Yeah—shit. I…wish I could’ve done that differently?”

Roy is completely quiet for a moment, and then he laughs. An actual, genuine laugh which lights up his eyes and brings out the dimples and Danny feels just a little bit less dead.

“I mean, it was very Adore. Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

Anyone else saying that would probably deliver it as an insult. Roy, somehow, makes it sound like very Adore is the most incredible thing a human being can be.

Danny can’t comprehend it at all but it makes his heart swell.

“We should really talk,” he says quietly. “I wanna— make sure I say it right.”

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s wanted anything as badly as he wants to have this conversation when his head is clear and he can get the words out.

“Just uh—“ he wants to say let me shower and look less gross but Roy’s ten steps ahead of him. Of course.

“How ‘bout you sort yourself out and I’ll call up room service and get breakfast? You gonna be okay here?”

Danny can only nod.

Roy is still smiling his saint-like smile when he places a kiss in Danny’s messy, disgusting hair and then gets up to leave the room.

Danny stands in the shower for what feels like an hour. He scrubs his skin clean and washes his face twice, until the water runs clear without a hint of last night’s foundation.

His mind is full of the things he needs to say, and there’s so much. The last thing he wants is to deliver some saccharine last-15-minutes-of-a-romcom speech, but there’s a lot that needs to be said.

So he formulates and re-formulates it under his breath as he walks back into the room and throws on the first pair of cut-off jeans and a tank top he finds in his suitcase.

Roy is sitting at the foot of his bed with a large cup of coffee, and he’s quiet and patient and Danny can feel him watching his every move anyways.

“Ready to talk?” Roy asks finally, and then adds a lighter, “There’s French toast.”

Danny has a speech prepared.

Roy is looking at him expectantly, and his eyes are so wide and soft, and Danny opens his mouth to give the speech and,

“I’m in love with you.”

“Oh.”

“I, uh— I had this whole thing I was gonna say. But that’s it. I’m in love with you. Have been. For a while.”

Danny’s shaking a little. His hair is dripping onto his shoulders and it’s uncomfortable.

Roy’s quiet for a second and it’s the hardest silence Danny’s ever had to endure. His head is spinning so incredibly fast and he lowers himself onto his own bed because balance is too much to ask for.

“Damn,” Roy says finally. He’s smiling.

Danny’s world slows down.

“Well thank God. I was beginning to think I’d never get to hear that.”

Danny laughs. It’s sob-like and shaky but he feels lighter now.

“So does that mean—“ he starts, and his face feels like it’s burning.

“Jesus Christ. Yeah. Yes. I love you.”

Roy licks his lips like he wants to taste the words and make sure they’ve been said. Danny wants to taste them there, too.

There’s a recklessness that comes with the realization that with all of their cards on the table, nothing is stopping him now.

“Put that coffee down,” he says quietly, and uses the time it takes Roy to do that to slide off his mattress, and cross the small distance between the two beds.

Roy leaves his mug on the floor and looks back up at Danny, and Danny places his hands at the sides of Roy’s face and pulls him up into a kiss he’s been fantasizing about for years.

Roy brings a hand up to Danny’s damp hair and tugs just a little, his other hand finding its way to the small of Danny’s back. It guides Danny down and he ends up with his knees on both sides of Roy’s body, and it’s not even ten in the damn morning, and Danny’s definitely grinding down as he kisses him again and again and again, and his ears are ringing.

Then Roy pulls back.

His hand traces the side of Danny’s face, and he rubs his thumb along his bottom lip. Danny only half-fights the impulse to bite down.

“We should fuck,” Roy muses, quietly. “Like, now.”

Danny throws his head back and laughs as he nods, and Roy takes that as an opportunity to kiss down his neck.

Katya’s the first to notice.

Adore’s a redhead tonight and she’s basically in lingerie and fishnets with some cut up flannel thrown on top to make it a real look. Her lips match her hair, and there’s a fresh bruise right above her collarbone.

She’s made a half-assed attempt at putting some concealer on it but it’s obvious she didn’t really try or want to hide it.

“Holy fuck, girl, what happened to you?” Katya grins, and she makes a show of leaning forward as if they’re about to gossip in the wings while there’s a show going on on stage.

“I’ve been having a fucking day,” Adore announces triumphantly.

On stage, Bianca says something that makes the club crowd scream, and Adore joins them and hollers obnoxiously from her spot.

Bianca glances back at the wings for a split second, and throws her a wink.

Katya stares.

“No fucking way,” she says, dropping her voice to a dramatic stage whisper.

Adore bites down on the straw of her cocktail as she tries, and fails, to hold back her grin.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she mumbles around the straw,

and she looks back at the stage and Bianca,

and she grins, and grins, and grins.

A/N: now that that’s done, pleeease feel free to hit me up with prompts/ideas/all that cool shit, i’m more than happy to (try to) deliver!!

#biadore #dylann #bianca del rio #adore delano #emetophobia cw #vomiting cw #fluff #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant #if i could have you

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